#richard armitage x oc

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 34

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: T

A/N: Well, here we are, this is the end of this story! I want to thank each and every one of you who has read this fic, and especially those who left kind comments. There were moments when I thought I might never finish this story, but your support kept me motivated to work on this story. I want to give an especially huge thank you to @lathalea for her endless support, for beta reading many of the chapters, and for sending me lovely photos and gifs of our handsome RA whenever I needed inspiration. I probably would have abandoned the story if it hadn't been for you ❤️

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always, please leave comments! 💙

Read the whole fic on AO3

Two months later

Travellers race by wheeling suitcases and pushing carts through the bustling airport as Richard checks in his luggage. He asks me to hold onto his boarding pass as he rummages through his bag for his passport, and a lump forms in my throat as I read over the proof of our imminent separation.

LHR to BOS. One way.

There are no more lazy mornings in bed or afternoons spent strolling through the city separating us from his departure. No more late evenings of wine and greasy takeaway and cuddles on the couch. No more soft kisses until I fall asleep in his arms. 

His fingers linger against mine a while longer than necessary as he takes back his boarding pass, then offers me a soft smile. It does not quite reach his eyes, but I force myself to return it as I fight back tears, not wanting to make this even harder for him. 

“So…” I say hesitantly, knowing prolonging our goodbye will only make it more difficult and yet wanting—needing—to keep him to myself for as long as I can. 

“So…” The same longing hangs in his voice, and he swallows heavily.

“I guess I’ll walk you to security.”

He nods, then takes my hand in his, squeezing it tight as if that will make up for having to let go before either of us are ready. With each step we take, my heart tightens in my chest, and when we reach the slowly advancing line leading to security, I look down at my feet. I want to look at him, to gaze into his eyes and soak in that handsome face of his one last time before he leaves, but I cannot. I cannot because I can no longer hold back my tears. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” 

I ignore his plea for a moment and angrily wipe the tears that have escaped before meeting his gaze. His own eyes shine with unshed tears, and he frowns as he reaches out to cradle my face with his large hands. 

“Have a safe flight,” I say quietly, knowing my voice will break if I speak any louder. “Try to get some sleep on the plane. And remember—Americans drive on the wrong side of the road. So when you get to Boston, make sure you look the right way when crossing the street.” 

Richard chuckles. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always,” I say, swallowing heavily. 

He leans in to press a tender kiss on my forehead, and I wrap my arms around his waist, clinging to his cream-coloured jumper. 

“I miss you already,” he whispers into my hair, and the soft cracking of his voice tears my heart in two. 

“I miss you, too.” 

We remain in this embrace for a long time, exchanging tender, languid kisses, lingering in the moment even though my heart's beating echoes through me like clockwork, reminding me that my attempts to cling to this moment are futile. We are eventually brought back to reality by a family rushing past us, mother and father running toward security, a baby crying in his arms. 

“I have to go now,” Richard says reluctantly, slowly disentangling himself from me, though he squeezes my hand so hard I wonder if his fingers will remain imprinted on my palm. “I’ll call you as soon as I land in Boston.” 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod, but I manage to choke out, “I love you, Richard.” 

A single tear rolls down his cheek as he smiles at me. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Another kiss, my lips quivering slightly. “Alright… I’ll see you in three months.” 

I smile at him, focusing on his lips, his beard, and the irresistible azure depths of his eyes. I think of all the times I have gazed into his eyes, all the times I thought I would melt into a puddle from the intensity of the love shining in them. But when he turns away, those memories clog my throat. 

Three months. 

“Richard, wait—” 

He turns around, frowning, and before either of us can say anything—before I can think better—I throw myself into his arms. He effortlessly lifts me off the ground, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispers pleadingly, pressing a tender kiss into my hair. 

I had not realized until now I was crying, and I curse my weakness and selfishness. “I’m sorry—I promised myself I wouldn’t do this—” 

“It’s alright. I know,” he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. “Three months will go by so much faster than you think.” 

I nod, my face still buried in his neck. “You promise you’ll call me every day?” I ask, my voice muffled by his jumper. 

I can almost hear his smile when he responds. “I promise. I’ll even call you twice a day.” 

“Well, only if you want to…” 

“Lorelei,” he begins in a familiar tone, the one that tells me he thinks I have said something utterly ridiculous and he finds me utterly adorable for it. “If it was only about what I want, I wouldn’t be leaving you for even a day.” 

Smiling, I press a kiss into the crook of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent one more time, before meeting his tender gaze. “Then I’ll call you three times a day,” I reply teasingly, and his laughter reverberates through me, soothing away some of the ache in my heart.

“I look forward to it,” he says with the most irresistible smile, and I smile back when I notice the calm trust in his eyes. 

From the beginning, Richard has never given me a reason to doubt him, to think that he is not one hundred percent committed to our relationship. But I am relieved that now he, too, has no reason to doubt me. He knows now that I will always be there on the other end of the line whenever he needs. I will miss him terribly, but I will wait for him.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle @evenstaredits

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#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

[mistresskayla-blog1]

Considering Chimera

Lyn's Writing Event Day 4

May 4th : Week 1: Chimera   18+

In Chimera legend, “an illusion of the mind; especially an unrealized dream”

Characters: Dr Scott White x OC Jennifer Turner

Fandom: Richard Armitage – Sleepwalker

Warnings: disabled person, angst, paralysis, mind control, somatization, dream control, stalking.

Word count: 1.5k (part 1)

It started one day, Scott was crashing hard after work in the morning and sleeping so hard he woke up disoriented and sweaty. He didn’t normally lose his control over his own mind, but the women in his dreams was getting stronger. He used to just see flashes in his dreams, a blonde smiling, a touch of her hand on his arm, a fantastical story that his mind followed like a movie you couldn’t look away from. But each night, it was more and more, and he had no idea who this woman was. Her face was etched in his mind, and he could draw her if he had that talent.

Scott sat up in bed midday and wiped his face with his hand, slow, the stubble of his beard growing out and soft. He looked at his watch, “2 pm, ok. Well maybe I’ll go for a run or something”, he said to the room, chuckling, “I wonder if I have seen this woman out and I just never put two and two together,” he got up and started the shower, letting the heat of the water revive his sensations and wake up to the present moment. Scott dried off, and got dressed, putting on his running shoes and setting a playlist for a run. He left his apartment, and started jogging almost immediately, heading for the hills about a mile away. If he sweat enough, Scott thought, ‘Maybe I can sweat this woman out of my mind’.

---

              You had seen him one day out on the trail and were enthralled by his height, build and endurance. You made a wish to yourself that you would find a way to get to him. But how, do you get someone you cannot meet to speak to you?  You were stuck in this wheelchair, watching the beautiful landscape outside. Wanting to be free, wanting to be healed, but knowing there was nothing you could do about your fate. Mark had made his claim to you with his attack, and you were a “saint” everyone said to pull through and heal as much as you had. But you were still paralyzed, and that isn’t something you can wake up from. So you chose to spend a lot of time, voraciously reading, and fantasizing, and writing and finding out how the mind can heal the body, and how the mind can maybe talk to other minds? It sounded crazy right? But maybe you were just clever and focused enough to do it. Maybe we really could create illusions and create worlds in other’s minds, just as easily as we could our own. Isn’t that what movies do for us, give us that stimuli of an accepted human experience?

              Jennifer put her journal down and sipped some water from her seating area. Her apartment overlooked the park, and she got to see all the runners’ jog by her several times a day. Today was a particularly breezy and warm Californian afternoon and her aid, Nancy had opened her windows so the spring breeze and blossom filled scent just filled her space with promise. Jenn missed running, she missed the feel of the wind on her skin, the sweat and high that came from pushing that extra half mile or so. She had made it through several marathons, but it only took one asshole one day to destroy her life.

---

              Jennifer saw him again, huffing and puffing around the bend in the trail, sweat seeping through his t-shirt, his legs long as he took giant strides, his feet hitting the pavement in that rhythmic way. She closed her eyes and focused, smiling as she saw his face in her mind’s eye. Scott felt a tingle in his temple and shook it off, toppling over a hedge and crashing into a flower bed. A woman walking a dog, stopped to check on him, and Jennifer opened her eyes to see him collect himself off the ground embarrassed. He looked up towards Jennifer’s building and Jennifer scooted her seat closer to the window, looking down, “Please see me please see me,” She said out loud. Scott caught his breath and rubbed his sweaty brow with his even sweatier arm.  The sun was still cresting and mirroring the glass fronted building across from the park, but he still felt a sensation to look up. He squinted, and when a cloud came to block the sun a moment, he saw two flashing eyes looking down at him from the, “2, 3, 4, 5” Scott counted out loud, “5th floor,” he looked back down to the door manned building and crossed the street to it.

Jennifer’s eyes grew wide, “Oh shit!” she blurted. Nancy came in from the kitchen, “DO you need something, love?” Nancy’s Irish lilt always snapped Jennifer back from her revelry. Jennifer turned to her, “Hey, actually I may have a visitor soon, could you, um.. help me get back to living room?” Nancy smiled, “Of course, let’s get your chair”. Nancy went towards the wheelchair in the corner, and placed the lift assist board under Jennifer’s butt, carefully transferring her to the chair. Jennifer placed her arms around Nancy’s neck for help, Jennifer still had her upper body support, but her legs were now for show. Her team said, she may recover some more, over time, but she had to do her exercises. She had to follow through and want to heal, and until she met, well, until she saw her running man, she didn’t have a reason to.

---

              Scott approached a burly looking man in a red uniformed suit at the building marked with a large metallic 724 above the overhang entranceway. The doorman was posted and smiled at him warmly. “Hello sir, how can I assist you?”  Scott paused, “Hey, I was wondering if I could see the woman on the 5th floor please?” The doorman looked at him, “Do you have a name, Sir?” Scott blew out a breath, “No, not exactly. Sorry” chuckles. “Well I can’t just let you in,” the doorman’s phone buzzed, “excuse me, a second,” Scott was wiping his face off again, with his short sleeve and whipping the sweat out of his hair, “Of course, sure”. The doorman returned, “She will see you now, its 514, Ms. Turner”. Scott blazed a smile again, “Thanks”, the doorman cleared his throat, “You might take care, she is a very sweet girl, and if I were you I would come back after you’ve cleaned yourself up”. Scott paused, looking at him seriously, then looking down at himself. Scott turned on his heel and left the building, “You know what, your right, thank you. What was your name?” “Burt, sir. Glad I could help”.  He nodded. Scott nodded back in respect and crossed the street again heading back for his apartment.

Jennifer was nervous, if she could pace she would, so instead she wore a hole in the floor with her eyes, and wrung her hands on a rag, like those dames used to do during the war. “Where is he, Burt would have let him up by now,” She called back down to Burt, “Burt? Did you send him up?” Burt cleared his throat, “Ms. Turner, I told him to come back more presentable, and he agreed”. Jennifer rolled her eyes, and tried to sound appreciative, “That’s very sweet of you, Burt, you didn’t have to do that. I just wanted to speak with him is all”.  Burt, paused, “Ms. Turner, I just want you to know that it is my job to maintain the safety of all the residents here”.

Jennifer cut in, “I know, but I don’t think he is a threat”.  “We do not know that yet Ms. Turner, I just think it doesn’t hurt to wait it out”. Jennifer sighed, “Well I certainly have time, don’t I, Burt”. Burt grimaced audibly, “I’m sorry Ms. Turner I did not mean anything by it, I’m sorry”. Jennifer’s heart smoothed, “Thank you Burt for looking after me, I appreciate it”. “Of course” Burt said and then hung up. Nancy looked at Jennifer inquisitive, “He’s not coming up then?” She shook her head, “That Burt is a good soul though, really looks after you” Jennifer shook her head, “He’s just a sweet old man, there’s nothing to worry about”. Nancy chuckled, “Well he doesn’t turn his head for me, fray and I talk him up an awful lot when I go out”. Jennifer giggled, “You have a thing for Burt, do you?” Nancy smiled, “Oh my yes, he’s so plump and sweet, I could eat him up, but I won’t” She giggled too. Nancy went back to her duties, and Jennifer rolled herself back to the window. She knew she wouldn’t see him, but now that he knew where she lived, it was only a matter of time before he came back to her.

(more to come… stay tuned)

@legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @linasofia @riepu10 @scariusaquarius @lathalea

#Lyn's writing Event

#richard armitage #fanfiction #romance #smut #richard armitage x oc #Dr scott white #somatization #dreams #disabilities #fem reader #mind control #paralysis treatment

[blankdblank]

Hobbit - Soulmate Pt 58

x Lee/Richard -

Hobbit – Soulmate  - Working your way through school you finally make contact with your Soulmate who happens to be an actor whose career is starting to take off.

Hobbit - Soulmate Masterlist

Ch 58 here on ao3

@theincaprincess @lilith15000 @jesevans @devilishminx328​ 

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​​, @deepestfirefun​, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

#richard armitage #Lee Pace #Hugh Jackman #RPF #long series #drama #angst #memorials #shopping #richard armitage x oc #lee pace x oc

[lathalea]

The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings.  I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice). 

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand. 

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his.  Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping. 

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds. 

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now! 

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon. 

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own. 

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his. 

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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[reduce-along]

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[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (23)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

People who don't interact with my fics over a few months will be removed from tag lists.

Bright light burst into the room and the familiar voices of Ros and Jo broke through the shroud of silence that had formed in the room. Halos around their heads. Amy winced against the light…. 

As Amy lay in bed, waking, she saw Lucas’ outline, his form haloed by a bright light. He was in the doorway. Every time he stood in the doorway, the room dark, with only light from the hallway behind him, it took her back. It felt as if she were time travelling back to her time locked away with nothing by Simon Caulfield’s slimy words for company. 

Lucas limped into the room. She could hear his shouts in her mind as Simon Caulfield had put a bullet in his thigh merely seconds before Ros and Jo saved them. Then once they had both been released, Amy and Lucas had been in hospital overnight. They had been given their own private room due to the nature of their reasoning for being in hospital. 

Harry had given them both time off to recuperate, and offered counselling. Lucas, as he had done many times, politely rejected Harry’s offer. However, Amy knew that she would probably find herself fighting against the memories for some time. 

Lucas got into bed beside Amy, and studied her for a moment. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but gradually they had begun to fade and the light in her eyes was starting to reappear. 

Amy curled her arm around his head, her fingers sifting through his short hair. He was literally her everything. 

***

Richard Holland held a small package in his hand, thinking back on the postman’s words that it had been sent first class but accidentally got lost at the depot, so was a week late. He ripped open the thick envelope finding a small stack of papers inside. On the top was a note, written in capital letters. 

RICHARD AND SHARON HOLLAND, 

THE ENCLOSED PHOTOGRAPHS ARE PROOF THAT LUCAS NORTH IS NOT WHO HE APPEARS TO BE. YOUR DAUGHTER IS IN DANGER. 

Richard felt his whole body grow cold at the sight of photos of Amy bound to a chair and blindfolded. Then further photographs showed Amy lying on the pavement in a pool of her own blood, next to another woman also shot. With Lucas standing over both of them, a gun in his hand. 

***

Amy and Lucas were still off work when the phone call came. Lucas was sat on the sofa with a mug of coffee, flicking through the channels, rolling his eyes at how shit day time TV was. Amy had been cleaning the kitchen; mundane tasks were enough to take her mind away from the thoughts of Simon Caulfield. The pain in her neck and back was fading day by day, but still enough to cause her grief and keep up a steady dose of painkillers. 

“Dad?” Amy asked. “Everything okay?” Amy sat down at the kitchen table and sighed, wincing at sharp stab of pain which shot through her neck. 

“I’m coming to fetch you, Amy. You’re not to stay with that bastard any longer!” Richard Holland demanded. “Your mum knew there was something behind the shooter; I know she was involved with Lucas. And I know you were took hostage last week.”

A rod of ice shot down Amy’s back and her heart raced in her chest. “D…Dad….what’s happened?” 

“I’m coming to London to get you. He better not be there when I come because I’ll kill the bastard!” Richard seethed. 

“Dad, please, stop it.” 

“No, I won’t stop it, Amy. I am not prepared to let him do this to you. It’s a good job your mum is at work and hasn’t seen the photos. I won’t let her see them.” 

“Who sent you the photos?” 

“It doesn’t matter who sent them. I’m coming to get you. Pack some things.” 

“Dad…please….”

Lucas could hear Amy’s pleas and hobbled into the kitchen. “Aim, what’s going on?” 

Richard growled down the phone line. “Trying to play the protector now, is he? He can fuck himself. He’d better not be there when I come and get you because I really will kill him…” 

Amy was weeping as her father disconnected the call. She held the phone in her shaking hand, until it finally fell from her grasp and hit the floor. “Dad knows!” she sobbed. “He’s got photos of me from last week and when I was shot. He’s coming to take me back to Coventry. I can’t leave.” 

Lucas’ breath caught in his throat. Everything he loved was slipping away, and for a few seconds he tried to grapple with some kind of rational thought. He knew he couldn’t fight this one; Amy’s father was right. Despite having not heard Richard’s side of the conversation, Lucas knew he was doing the right thing. Amy had to be safe. 

Amy dashed at Lucas, grabbing his shirt. She could see in his face that he was admitting defeat. 

“You need to go with him, Aim. They can keep you safe: I can’t,” Lucas said, his voice breaking. “I love you too much to let you keep being hurt. He’s doing this because he loves you, Amy. He fucking loves you…and so do I.” His voice finally broke. Tears fell down Lucas’ cheeks and he took Amy into his arms, holding her tight. “Go with him, angel. I can’t keep you safe anymore.” 

“You can,” Amy wept, looking up at him. “I want to be with you, Lucas. More than anything. Don’t push me away.” 

“I’m not pushing you away because I want to. Fuck. Can’t you see that? It’s because I love you more than anything that I’m doing this.” 

“If I do go, I’ll come back,” Amy argued. “They can’t make me stay.” 

Lucas smiled through the tears. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.” 

The next two hours were crippling as Amy packed two suitcases full of clothing. Lucas watched her from the doorway, knowing that letting her go was the only way to keep her safe. Amy belonged with her family who could be the stability she needed. “I am coming back,” Amy said defiantly, stopping for a second with a pile of underclothes in her hands. “I don’t intend on staying there for long.” 

“You’ll stay as long as you need to.” 

“I’m only doing this to please you and Dad for now, but I’ll be coming back,” Amy countered. She approached Lucas and lifted her hand, cupping his cheek. He kissed her palm, turning into her touch. Then suddenly he kissed her hard, catching her off guard. Heat mounted so high between them and within seconds, Lucas’ lips were trailing down Amy’s throat. 

They made love on the bed. It was like the very first time they had made love: intense, passionate, full of want. As Lucas came and then rested his head on her chest, he whispered, “I need to let you go.” 

“Lucas, no!” Amy whimpered. “Don’t you dare!”

Lucas got up from the bed, untangling himself from her and re-buttoned his shirt, and then pulled his jeans up, re-buckling his belt. 

“When we got back together, I should have known I wouldn’t be worth it,” Amy growled. “I’m never worth it, am I?” 

“You are worth everything!” Lucas shot back. His eyes were wide and his whole face was contorted in anger and frustration. “How the fuck can you say you’re not worth it? I’m doing this because I love you. I should have known better than ever bring you into any of this. I should have stayed away when I first saw you.” 

Amy choked as she heard those words and dropped to the bed. “You regret me….” 

“I would never regret you. I only regret that I caused you so much pain. Your dad won’t be too much longer, I don’t think.” He looked at the clock; Coventry was about a three hour drive away from London. It was now just after one in the afternoon and Richard had called at eleven. “Go with your dad. You are loved so much more than you could ever imagine. By all of us.” 

Lucas walked out of the room and picked up his keys in the hallway. 

Amy followed on behind, calling after him. 

Before Lucas left the flat, he kissed Amy hard one last time. “I adore you so much,” he choked. “Be happy, angel, but more important, be safe.” 

Amy sobbed on the doorstep as Lucas left. She watched his form walk down the hallway and out the main door into the street. Pain was ripping her so raw inside and in her own mind she knew that she could never give up on Lucas North completely. No matter what happened and what evil things were thrown at them. Their love would be stronger than any of it. 

***

Amy sat in her dad’s car as they drove back to Coventry. There was only silence and the gentle sway of the car as it swept along the motorway. Until Richard broke open the silence. “Fancy a coffee?” 

“Okay,” Amy whispered, her voice so hoarse after sobbing. Her cheeks were still vivid red and her eyes full of unshed tears. They threatened to fall at any moment. Just her dad’s kindness and soft voice made her want to cry all over again. Of course he was only protecting her; that had never been in dispute. That was all he and Lucas were doing. 

Richard slipped out of the car and headed into a Costa at a motorway service station. Rain was beginning to spit as dark clouds began to move in. Amy stared out of the window, her focus glued to the spot in front of her where a family were getting into their car. A dark haired man, accompanied by a blonde woman. A toddler and an older child, who looked to be around ten. They looked happy. 

The sound of the driver door opening snapped Amy back to reality and made her jump. Richard noticed his daughter’s shock and smiled sadly at her. “Here you go, love,” he said, offering her a large latte. “Extra shot of caramel.” Then he winked. 

As Richard started the engine, he sighed. “I’m sorry, Amy,” he said. “I’m only doing this for your good; you know that, don’t you? I know you love Lucas. But being with him is going to put you at risk.” 

“I know, Dad,” Amy said, her voice quiet. “I know you’re doing this to help me and because you love me.” 

“You might be a grown woman, but your mum and I would do anything for you, you know that. We want you safe. No matter how old your children get, your responsibility for them never stops.” 

The car was still stationary as Richard glanced across at Amy’s hands in her lap, and he noticed something dark around her wrist as her jumper sleeve had ridden up her arm. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. “Your wrists.” 

***

Lucas slammed the flat door as he walked back inside, knowing Amy would be gone by now. The silence was deafening, and a gasp came from the very back of his throat. She’d gone. Her room was tidy, but her diary from her bedside table was gone, along with her slippers and most of the toiletries from the bathroom. He opened her wardrobe, just to feel the pain of her departure even more. There were barely any clothes left. 

In the kitchen and Lucas slumped down on the floor, feeling the cold of tiles against his backside and thighs. Pain from the bullet wound shot down his leg, but he didn’t care. The pain couldn’t compare to that of letting Amy go. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and looked at the photo of them on his lock screen. She was his everything. Though the pain was excruciating, her very presence in his life had helped him to feel once more. All of the emotional and mental numbness he had felt since coming home from Russia, had been burned away by Amy Holland. She made him feel happiness, contentment, love, pleasure. But also pain. Pain seemed to be a constant in his life now, a permanent friend. 

***

Amy stepped into her parents’ house, feeling the wave of familiarity rush through her. The smell of a home she had left many years ago – it was still exactly the same. It hadn’t been that long since she and Lucas had been visiting for new year, but this was different. Today marked the day she would be staying for longer. Maybe until all of this blew over, and then she could be with Lucas again. So she hoped. 

“Your mum isn’t home yet, but I’ve burned the photos. I can’t let her see those. What happened, Amy? The truth, please,” Richard asked, his voice was low but firm. He had never been a demanding man, instead always being gentle with his daughters. But today had shown Amy just how fierce he really could be. “You know who sent those images, don’t you?” 

“It’s all secret information…”

“No, Amy! I won’t have that shit,” Richard growled. “Tell me. I don’t care if it’s top secret and a risk to national security, or whatever, you’re my daughter and I deserve to know what happened to you.” 

Amy stood in the kitchen and looked up at her dad who was waiting for an answer. He had his arms folded and his face was set in a straight expression. 

“The woman who shot me was Lucas’ ex and a CIA agent. She faked her death because she killed her boss and went on the run. Then she must have found out about me and Lucas, and tried to make me think he wasn’t really in love with me. And she collared us outside the café that morning and went to shoot Lucas, but I stopped her. And Lucas killed her.” 

Richard sighed and held his hand to his mouth. “Fucking hell, Amy.” 

“It was Sarah’s brother who took me hostage, wanting to get revenge on him. Apparently, the accomplice of Simon Caulfield was Sarah’s ex-husband; I was told that in the hospital. They went rogue together to get revenge on Lucas.” 

“And you were still prepared to stay with him after all this?” Richard asked, his eyes wide. 

“I love him,” Amy replied softly. Tears were falling down her cheeks again. “I’ve never loved anyone else like this, and he actually loves me back. For so long I never felt I’d ever find a man who could love me...”

“Oh, love,” Richard sighed. He took Amy into his arms and held her tight as she wept on him. Through tears, Richard looked up at the ceiling, asking in prayer for the strength to be what his daughter needed. 

Once Sharon was home from work, Richard explained the whole story to his wife. 

“Where are the photos, Rich?” Sharon asked. Her dark eyes were wide with shock and her hands were shaking. 

Amy was sat at the other end of the table, feeling as though her whole body was closed off. She hung her head, feeling ashamed of everything that had occurred. 

“It doesn’t matter about the photos. I got rid of them. I wasn’t letting you see them,” Richard replied. 

Sharon walked towards her daughter. She was slow and deliberate, and her gaze was locked on her daughter’s arms. Her skin was concealed by a thick jumper. Sharon leaned down and gently pushed the sleeve up on Amy’s left arm. “Oh, God,” she gasped, seeing black and purple bruising around Amy’s wrist. 

***

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#Lucas North #Richard Armitage #Spooks #MI5 #Lucas North x OC #Original Female Character #Fanfiction

[greenandsorrow]

MASTERPOST || HELLO MY OLD HEART (ongoing)

Pairing; mainly Thorin Oakenshield x fem!faerie!reader

Warnings; fighting scenes, descriptions of injuries, death & loss, sexual undertones at times, middle earth magic, lots of angst & hurt, mean!reader, toxic!reader, selfish!reader, immortal!reader, reader with female anatomy, a not sugarcoated Thorin, I have read the Silmarillion and you should too

Summary; Thorin & company set out to reclaim the kingdom of Erebor from the claws of the cunning Smaug. On their way out of Hobbiton they come across something peculiar. Faeries in Middle Earth have gone extinct, but you have managed to survive against all odds. Your unique beauty and mischievous but still kind character captures the king's heart. His suspicions towards your magic will soon be replaced with a deep love for the real you. Are you ready to go on an adventure?

Author's note; I love the Hobbit. I have some issues with the movie adaptation but that hasn't stopped me from rewatching it relentlessly. The book is like a blanket of comfort for me and I've been smitten with the fictional character of Thorin for too long🥹 You can ask to be added to this fic's taglist!

THE HOBBIT

An unexpected journey

NOTHING SO FAR😖

The desolation of Smaug

Battle of the five armies

My OC is completely mine.

Support the writer! Your tips keep me motivated to write & help me go through each day! Thanks🫶 CLICK HERE(PayPal link)

My masterlist

Resources-> @saradika-graphics, @xxbimbobunnyxx, @yeritos, my shifting script from 2022

Tag list-> @concernedcrisis @mrsdurin @meluiloth @fizzyxcustard @shinyshayminflower

DO NOT COPY, DO NOT REPOST, DO NOT USE ON ANY AI PLATFORMS EITHER.

#thorin oakenshield #the silmarillion #the hobbit trilogy #the hobbit thorin #the hobbit bilbo #the hobbit #lord of the rings #lotr #multi chap fic #an unexpected journey #the desolation of smaug #battle of the five armies #smaug the dragon #azog the defiler #thorin #thorin x reader #thorin x oc #thorin x y/n #thorin x you #bilbo baggins #fili and kili #kili durin #fili durin #balin #dwalin #fem!reader #faerie!reader #the oh hellos #richard armitage #oc

[middleearthpixie]

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Seven

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all. 

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle. 

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…  

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm 

Warnings: None 

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

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@sazzlep @night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin straightened up and stepped away from the table. “Do you think she will like this?”

Heather looked up at him with solemn blue eyes and nodded. “I think so, Mister Thorin.”

“Good.” He smiled as he bent to scoop Heather into his arms. “Now, do you remember what you’re supposed to do, mimûna?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Heather had been an asset as she’d helped him set up the dining area in his flat, transforming it from a somewhat cold, cheerless alcove into a warm and welcoming space. He’d smuggled in china and crystal from the butler’s pantry, along with fine silver and gold candlesticks and pure white table linens that were only used for the most elegant of occasions (such as any royal wedding that might appear on the horizon) and now, soft golden light from the flickering white candles warmed the entire room. 

“Should I go fetch Mama?”

He nodded. “Don’t tell her why, but don’t let her worry, either.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t.” He pressed a kiss into her temple. “And don’t tell anyone else you might see on the way, either.”

She bobbed her head as he set her down. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Go.”

She slipped around the door and he tried to ignore the flutter of a thousand butterflies in his belly. Tried, but failed. It was foolish to be so nervous. He knew she would say yes when he formally asked for her hand. After all, she’d already said yes. 

And yet, he was every bit as nervous as he’d been in the moments leading up to their first kiss, as he’d been in the moments when he’d teetered on the precipice of making love to her for the first time.

But at the same time, he wasn't nervous. He’d never felt for anyone, not even Elmaya, what he felt for Sophie. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, nothing he wouldn’t give her, and he wanted to be the ’adad to Heather that she deserved, to give both of his girls the lives they deserved. 

Still, his belly danced with fluttering wings, which made sitting still impossible. So, he paced. Back. Forth. Around the table. Into the great room. Back into the dining area. And by the time the door opened, he almost leapt from his own skin.

“Mister Thorin?” Heather held her mother’s hand and smiled. “And I didn't tell anyone.”

All at once, his stomach calmed, his need to pace faded, and when he turned to see Sophie in the doorway, her eyes wide and already shimmering, he smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“I’ve come to know Erebor almost as well as you and my daughter know it,” Sophie replied with a smile. 

“Come in, then, and have some wine.”

Sophie eased her hand from Heather’s to tousle her daughter’s hair. “Did you know about this?”

Heather looked up at her mother with solemn, wide eyes. “I did. But I promised I wouldn’t tell you. Are you mad?”

“No, love. I’m not mad at all.”

Thorin reached for one of the crystal goblets, offering up a silent ask that his hand wouldn’t tremble and spill claret all across the snowy white table linen. Mahal listened and granted his wish, and he took a sip of wine to steady his nerves once more. 

Then, he smiled. “Miss Heather, I have something very important I wish to ask you,” he told her, setting the goblet down to hold out that hand. 

“Me?”

He nodded. “Yes, you.”

She stared at his outstretched hand, and then met his gaze. “What is it?”

He crouched to meet her eyes and caught her hand in his. “You know how important you and your mother have become to me, I hope.” He waited for her to nod and when she did, he went on, “and I know how important you are to your ’amad, so I feel it only fitting I ask you first.”

“Ask me what, Mister Thorin?”

“I wanted to ask you—to get your blessing, mimûna—if you would allow me to ask your mother to marry me.”

Heather pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering as she looked up at her mother and then back at him. Her expression was far more serious than he’d ever seen, and his heart melted as she whispered, “Do you promise to note ever make her cry?”

“I give you my word, Miss Heather. I will never make her cry.”

“And you promise to make her laugh and bring her flowers and tell her stories about Princess Heather and the dragon with the beautiful scales?”

He nodded. “I promise to do all of those things.”

She blinked, then looked up at Sophie again. “Mama, would this make you happy?”

Sophie’s eyes shone as well as she nodded. “I would make me terrifically happy, Heather.”

“Then I think it would be all right,” Heather said, turning back to Thorin. “But only if I can call you ’adad.”

“I would be honored for you to do that, Miss Heather.” He reached out to brush the tip of her nose with his forefinger, then said, “Can I ask you to do one last thing for me?”

“What?”

“There is a box over on that table in the corner by your ’amad. Would you fetch it for me?”

Her dark curls bounced as she bobbed her head and practically skipped to the table in question, where she brought back the small teak box. She set it in his hand and stepped back as he straightened up.

“I’ve heard tell in your world that a man proposes marriage by offering his intended a ring, to let those around her know she is spoken for.”

With that, he lifted the box’s lid. Inside, on a bed of moss green velvet, was one of the most beautiful pieces Balin had ever crafted. The ring itself was mithril, and set into the mithril, ringed by diamonds so pure and white, they were nearly colorless, was an oval-shaped sapphire of the deepest blue he could find. 

“Oh, my…” Sophie whispered, a hand coming to her lips. “Thorin, that is… that is beautiful…”

“Balin does fine work,” he said, “so, let’s see if it fits, shall we?”

Her hand trembled as he slipped the ring onto her fourth finger. It fit as if made for her. As he slid it into place, he said, “Will you marry me, Josephine Asharm?”

She nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

He leaned in to brush her lips with his, both of them laughing when Heather grumbled, “Ew. Squishy sounds.”

“Oh, forgive me, Miss Heather,” he replied with a grin as he pulled back. “And you know, I almost forgot, but I have something for you, as well, mimûna.” 

“You do?”

He nodded. “I do, indeed. I know Lady Dís explained to you the importance of dwarves’ hair and the braids we wear, didn't she?”

“She did. And she wove this into my hair.” Heather cradled the braid Dís had woven into her hair so many weeks ago, the braid Sophie smoothed and fixed on a regular basis.

“I was wondering if you would allow me to do the same?”

She stared up at him and slowly nodded. “I’d like that, Mister Thorin.”

“Good. So would I.” He crouched, reaching into the box once more to pull out the small square of moss green velvet, where, beneath it, lay a small silver cube. He plucked it from the box carefully, and held it out. “Does this meet with your approval, Miss Heather?”

She squinted as she studied the cube. “What does it say?”

“Uzbadnâtha. Do you remember what that means?”

She nodded slowly. “Princess.”

“And when your mother and I marry,” he told her softly, “you will become Princess Heather.”

“I will?” Wonder wove through her words and her eyes went perfectly round. “I’ll be a real princess?”

“I am the king, mimûna,” he reminded her with a soft chuckle. “And the daughters of kings are princesses. So, you shall be Princess Heather. If you wish to be, that is.”

“I like how it sounds.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering once more, then pointed to the rune. “Can you put it near Lady Dís’ braid?”

“Of course I can.” He set to work, taking great care not to tug her hair to hard as he carefully wove the rune into the plait, and when he finished, she threw her arms about his neck and squeezed him so tight, he thought he might actually pass out from lack of air.

Later that night, after supper was finished and everything cleared away, Sophie smiled as she came into the sitting area and found Heather sound asleep on the sofa. Usually, when she was anywhere other than her own room and she fell asleep, Heather would curl into a ball, would make herself as small as possible. 

But not this time. This time, she lay stretched out, peaceful in her dreaming and seeing it almost brought more tears to Sophie’s eyes.

She didn't jump when Thorin’s arm eased about her waist. Apparently Heather wasn't the only one who felt safe there.

“I should get her home,” she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

“Let her sleep, mesmel. I have a second bedchamber that she can have all to herself, just as she does in your flat. It’s plain now, but she can decorate however she wishes.”

She smiled up at him. “Are you certain about that?”

“About her decorating or staying?”

“Decorating. She is only four, remember.”

“I know. But she is a wise four who has seen far more of the world than she should have. Now, she gets to be a child and if that means decorating her room in colorful dragons and princesses, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re taking on a ready made family, you know.”

He turned to her, easing his free arm about her waist. “I know.”

“One you were not expecting to take on.”

“I know.”

“And she can be a handful.”

“I know.” His eyes sparkled like the sapphire on her finger. “And I look forward to the coming days, and with any luck, we will add to this family. Heather should not be an only child if we can possibly help it.”

She smiled as she wound her arms about his neck, threading her fingers through his thick hair. “I wholeheartedly agree, Your Majesty.”

“Somehow,” he murmured, his lips just brushing hers, “I thought you would, mesmel.”

The End

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Richard Armitage

[linasofia]

A Shooting Star

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l Part 6 l Part 7

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Vega

Summary: Lady Vega loves to sneak out to Erebor’s rampart to study the night sky, but one night, an unexpected visitor joins her. It is the beginning of a story whose end only the stars can tell.

Warnings: none

Special thanks to @lathalea & @legolasbadass for all your support and feedback. 💙⭐️

A small gush of wind met Vega, daughter of Vimar, as she climbed the many stairs to the rampart. Since she left her lantern by the wall, her only guidance was the moon. Thankfully, it was a clear night, and the pale light coming from the grand silver coin in the sky was enough to illuminate her path. As she silently entered the rampart, she felt the usual excitement tingling in her body. She knew she was not allowed to be there, but it was the best place for stargazing, if she did not count the mountain slope outside the gate, and it was worth the risk of being discovered. Without making a sound, she hurried to her secret spot, hidden behind a large block of stone—remains from a battle long before she came to live under the Mountain.

Vega rested her back against the rough wall and took out her book from the pocket in her skirt. She was grateful for choosing her warm stockings of finest mountain goat wool; the wind on the rampart was colder than she had expected. Her long winter shawl covered her upper body, and she pulled it tighter. She should have taken the heavy cloak instead, but it was too late to go back now. Besides, she had endured worse weather on the rampart. Vega opened the book carefully, found the most recent of her notes and peered up. Her trained eye easily located the stars of her people’s most important constellation; the magnificent Durin’s Crown. Every year, when a feast was held to celebrate Durin’s Day, the constellation could be seen right above the Mountain. Now, however, when the days were much shorter, it was set far to the west. She smiled. A handful more full moons, and then she would close the circle and be back at the first page in her notebook. She had stood on the rampart many nights and studied the constellations' quiet movements over the sky. It was a fascinating hobby, but not completely without danger. The rampart was high, and the darkness could be compact, at least when the new moon resembled a curved, thin chain of mithril. In addition, there was obviously always the risk of being discovered. Vega preferred not to tell anyone about her own private escapades. Especially not her father. In his eyes, she was still a young girl with little or no understanding of what was considered dangerous. The fact that she followed in her mother’s footsteps and refused to marry any of the lords she was presented to, out of duty, only fueled the old man's conviction that she did not understand what was best for her. Her mother, on the other hand, supported her strong will and constantly defended her daughter’s decision in public.

Vega grew up in the Blue Mountains, and as the daughter of a trusted construction advisor to the king, she lived what many would describe as a relatively comfortable life. Their home was always filled with her father’s construction drawings, books, and strange tools. During her first years, her father would not let her near his precious drawings, but as she grew older, he opened up another world to her, where the symbols, numbers and lines started to make sense. Vega believed it was her father’s work that laid the foundation for her interest in trying to understand things written or drawn by others long before her time. When she found an old map, she instantly tried to visualize the places, and eventually, she started to dream about adventures far beyond her people’s borders.

After King Thorin and his company had reclaimed Erebor, it did not take long before a messenger with the king’s summons reached the Blue Mountains. Vega’s father quickly answered the call and packed his most important belongings. Then, less than a year later, he arranged for his wife and daughter to make the same journey. She still remembered the excitement she felt as a young woman when their caravan set out toward their new home. Vega had heard many old tales about the great treasures of the Lonely Mountain, but also songs of unspeakable grief. She could not wait to see the great halls with her own eyes, and her mother repeatedly assured her it would be worth the long absence of her father. He had an important role to take on as the King of Carven Stone had returned to the Mountain. That was now many years ago, and Vega had grown, both in body and mind, since then.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots reached her ears. She drew nearer to the large stone and hid in its shadow. Her heart was banging in her chest, and her throat tightened, making it hard to breathe, as if she was deep down in the dusty coal mine under the Blue Mountains—a place restricted to the strongest miners among her people. Was this the night she finally was to be discovered? A tall shadow appeared on the stone floor in front of her, but she could not see the dwarf for the massive block of granite. She waited, desperately trying not to make any sound, as the shadow slowly moved closer. Then a broad figure walked right by her and stopped only a few arm’s lengths away. The pale light of the moon fell upon the male, and it made the rich fur on his cloak shimmer. It reminded her of a tale she once heard; about a rare fox who changes color—from almost black to white—when the first snow falls. From behind, the cloak in front of her looked vaguely familiar. In the darkness, all things appear to be grey, but Vega instinctively knew she had seen that cloak before. Admired it, even. The man searched his pockets and pulled out a long, thin item. A small flash of light tore the darkness apart, and when he turned his face to shield his pipe from the wind as he lit it, Vega stared—horrified—at the dwarf’s regal profile. The tobacco glowed as he inhaled loudly, and then a thin cloud of white smoke seeped from his nostrils. The dark, pleased hum that followed made something stir in her lower body, and Vega let out an involuntary gasp. The king instantly turned his head towards the dark corner, and her heart almost stopped. With a hand over her mouth, she held her breath.

“Who’s there? Step out of the shadow!” the king demanded, his voice raised, but not to its full capacity.

Vega took a deep breath and forced her feet to obey. When she stepped out from her hiding place, the moon appeared to be brighter, and she gracefully curtsied as the ruler of Erebor’s piercing stare met hers. The look on his face shifted from annoyance to surprise.

“Good evening, My King.”

“My Lady, I did not expect to meet anyone here. What in Mahal’s name brings you to this dark place?”

Vega hid her book behind her back. “I’m simply looking at the view.” She tried to control the tremble in her voice, but the rush of adrenaline made it impossible.

“The view?” The king looked over the edge of the rampart. He could see lights from the city of Dale, but other than that, the night offered nothing spectacular.

“Surely you must struggle to see anything interesting at all.”

Vega gazed up with a broad smile. “Not that view. This!” She pointed above their heads, where countless stars silently stared back at them.

Silence fell heavily between them. Thorin smoked his pipe while searching his memory for constellations he learned long ago, when he was a much younger dwarf. He could only remember a few of them. Back then, Frerin was much more interested in these stars and always waited patiently for his older brother to locate Durin’s Crown. Thorin’s heart ached at the memory. His brother’s death had removed the joy from so many activities, stargazing was only one of them.

He glanced at the lady standing beside him, her chin lifted and her eyes fixed on the sky. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and the smile still lingered on her lips. Her dark hair was braided in a beautiful pattern—the style popular among the women from the Blue Mountains—and then he spotted a bead with her family's name. He smiled. When he first saw her, he was unsure who she was, but as he looked closer, he could clearly see the resemblance. She was truly her father’s daughter, but beautiful and with a disarming smile.

”Is Lord Vimar aware of your late visit to the rampart?” He could hear her surprised gulp, and she quickly turned her focus on him instead. She had not realized he recognized her, and Thorin met her startled gaze with a calm smile. ”Do not worry, My Lady, your secret is safe with me.”

”Thank you, My King.” She smiled back, a sweet and slightly mischievous smile. ”No, my father would probably lock the door to my chamber if he ever found out what I was doing during the nights.”

”Nights? Are you telling me that I could have had the pleasure of meeting you here on other nights previous to this one?”

Vega wanted to smack herself. Why did her mouth speak too much as soon as the king rested his captivating azure gaze on her?

”I…” she did not know how to continue. How could she explain the thrill and the longing to do something forbidden? What it felt like to slip out in the cover of darkness and just be alone with her dreams and imagination. ”I’m afraid that is the truth,” she then admitted.

”Did you bring a book to read in the dark as well? Your eyes must be much better than mine.” The king sounded almost amused when he spotted the leather-bound piece in her hand, and Vega instantly pressed it against her chest.

”It contains only a few hasty notes I made for myself to read, together with drawings of constellations I have seen. It is nothing of importance.” Vega tried to gain control of her own words; she always spoke too much when she was nervous.

”Would you allow me to see it? I am certain your handwriting is neat and a pleasure to read.”

Her heart hammered again, just as it did when she was hiding, but this time it was not from fear. Was the King of the Longbeards really interested in the stars, or was he only being polite? She searched his face for the truth but found only honesty in his eyes. For a short while, she allowed herself to admire his prominent nose and full beard before she remembered she had no right to gaze upon her king like that.

”My King,” she hesitated, but was tempted to share her findings, if only to make him stay a little longer. Never before had she spoken to someone with such powerful charisma, and he made her very curious. ”It is nothing like the maps in the Royal Library of Erebor,” she then heard herself say. ”But I will be honored to show it to you.” Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the book, but when she tried to offer it to him, he took a step closer.

”Please, My Lady, explain it to me.”

Vega had to take a few deep breaths before she mustered enough calmness to explain her notes. When she spoke, the king listened intently, but every time he pointed at one of her drawings of Durin’s Crown, she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the heavy rings adorning his thick fingers. He had the hands of a warrior—large and calloused—but something in the way he let his fingertips glide over her stained papers told her those hands could do more than just harm.

The notes were indeed created for her eyes only, but after the initial insecurity, Vega found herself growing bolder in the king’s presence. As he leaned a little closer to her, no doubt to see better, a faint hint of pine and leather caught her senses, and it made her head spin, just like the strong tobacco she once was persuaded to try. She promised herself after that single time, to never smoke anything equally strong again. But she wouldn’t mind feeling this type of warm dizziness again. Then Vega shook her head to clear her mind. Who knew the alluring scent of the mightiest of all dwarves alive could evoke such delusional ideas.

”Considering all constellations, which one do you find most mesmerizing?” His question came unexpectedly, spoken in a much lower voice than before. It felt very personal, and Vega shivered. She knew what he probably was expecting from her, but eventually, she decided to answer honestly.

”Of all the constellations and the tales told, I must say I have two favorites, next to Durin’s Crown, of course.” She smiled warmly when a thick black eyebrow rose in surprise. ”The first one is The Hammer.” Vega pointed to the east, where nine stars proudly formed a large hammer.

Thorin nodded, remembering the constellation from Frerin’s rare attempts to actually teach him something useful. He was not sure about the tale; Frerin sometimes changed the story, only so he later could claim that Thorin remembered it wrong.

”And the second?” he asked, gently holding the unusual emerald gaze of the lady beside him. Thorin found her truly fascinating, and the way her voice enchanted him, as she spoke passionately about the stars, made him wish she was a member of his council instead of her elderly father. The endless discussions would be much more bearable if she was.

”The second one cannot be seen now. You will have to wait until spring before you can spot Raven’s Nest in the east.”

”Is it easy to find?”

”If you know what to look for, I supposeit’s easy. It’s one of the smallest constellations I know of, but I love the tale.”

Thorin smiled. He wanted to question her about the tale, just so she would keep talking, but he realized he could not ask her to stay on the rampart all night. The icy wind was growing in strength and the hour was late. He had gone to the rampart for the possibility of clearing his mind after a long evening session with the council. Instead, he had stumbled right onto Lord Vimar’s daughter’s secret stargazing spot. He had completely forgotten his manners and did not introduce himself properly. And what was even worse—he had no name on the lady in question.

”My Lady, even if your father sometimes speaks of his family, I do not think I have ever heard your name. May I ask for it?” His words were soft, and less formal than their initial conversation.

Vega stared at the king. Had he just showed interest in knowing her name? She could not understand why, but she had no intention of denying her king. The unexpected warmth in his eyes made her weak. His raven hair rested against the fur of his cloak but as he turned his head, the wind caught strands of it and blew life into the dark locks. She briefly wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked.

”Vega,” she almost whispered, her voice suddenly failing her as a result of her improper thought.

”Lady Vega, you have been most kind and shared your private notes. I thank you for that. But I’m afraid I need to ask you to return to the warmth of your chamber, before you get too cold.”

”Of course.” She averted her gaze, afraid he would see the disappointment in her eyes. The most exciting moment in a very long time would soon be over, and Vega pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She could do nothing to stretch their chance meeting further.

”I bid you a good night then.” He gave her a short nod.

”Good night,” she echoed as she made a poor attempt to curtsy. Her knees wouldn’t cooperate. Thankfully, King Thorin didn’t seem to notice, or care. All he did was grace her with another warm smile.

”And Lady Vega, do not hide in the shadows next time. I might mistake you for an intruder.”

She mustered one last smile in return. Then she watched him disappear from her—no longer—secret spot on the rampart. His cloak's movement as he rounded the corner was the last thing she saw of him. Vega took a deep breath and the cold air in her lungs made her cough. The king was right; she really should get back home. As she climbed down the stairs and found her lantern at the same place as she left it, she couldn’t stop thinking of his last words to her. Next time. Would there really be a next time?

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#thorin oakenshield #thorin #thorin fanfic #the hobbit #torin fic #thorin x oc #erebor #tolkien #fanfiction #richard armitage #stargazing #durin's crown #the hobbit fanfic #hobbit fic #a shooting star

[robertdowneyhiddlesbatch]

Cuming up

Richard Armitage is filming the third film in the hobbit series. This series is a little different as there’s a dwarrowdam, Ria, with them in this, and she’s Thorin’s one.

There’s a scene coming up to film, where Thorin is hit with Dragon sickness, and it extends to all his positions, money or maiden.

The producers introduce the scene to Richard and actress Eagan.

Ria is hiding from Thorin because she knows he’s mental, and he’s just found her and shows her just how possessive he’s become.

The crew gives the actors a few days to prepare for the scene.

Richard goes over to Eagan’s house one evening to check up on her. She’s cooking sticky pineapple chicken. He jokes about pineapple and she comes around the counter and plays with his hair/pants and says it’s supposed to make him taste better.

Or / they eat together and get acquainted and Richard jokes about pineapple and she palms him to familiarize herself with him and then goes down on him/

He kisses her and she starts to go down on him. She doesn’t fully take him, just tonguing at him. He moans “kitten” and she goes more kitten. He fists her hair and she smacks a palm down on the counter.

/she takes him but pulls away. Gets up. Whispers “pineapple” in his ear as a safe word and leaves to her bedroom/

Richard orders her to get up and she cleans off the counter and leans over, situating like they’re supposed to in the scene. He asks for a safe word and she says pineapple.

They have sex and Richard remembers they don’t have contras and she says to go in her mouth. He comes in her mouth.

Richard apologizes ones they’ve got their senses back and she says he doesn’t need to and they kiss and he cleans her out and he says it’s some good fucking pineapple. Then he feels bad about not letting her finish and eats her out.

/Richard follows her to her bedroom and it’s in character as Thorin and Rhia/

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #smut #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #Thorin smut #Thorin Oakenshield smut #the hobbit smut #richard armitage #Richard armitage smut

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 32

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 2k

Rating: M

A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments on this story, both here and on Tumblr. This story is quickly coming to an end, but I hope you will enjoy the last chapters! 💙

With an exhausted sigh, I drop one of the last boxes into the living room and take a moment to catch my breath. The early afternoon sun floods into the house from the tall bay window, casting beams of light onto the overflowing bookshelves and the pale couch. Boxes are scattered all over the place, and the sound of loud voices coming from outside and the thudding of heavy boots against the old wooden floors disrupt the usual tranquillity of the house, but it is still home. 

Home. 

The last few days have not been the most restful. Since the end of the term and the college party a few days ago, Richard and I have spent every waking moment packing my belongings, making room in the house, and correcting exams, and we have not gotten nearly enough sleep, but the fatigue and stress do not compare to the happiness that fills me. 

I make my way toward the front door, but before I know it, a pair of strong arms circle my waist from behind and pull me into a warm but sweaty chest. 

“Oh, God—you’re all sweaty!” I exclaim and try to wriggle out of Richard’s embrace. 

His rumbling laughter reverberates through me as he leans in to brush his lips against my earlobe. “That doesn’t usually bother you.” 

Warmth floods my cheeks, but before I can respond, William peers down from the bannister overhead. “I’m right here.” 

It is Richard’s turn to blush, and we giggle in embarrassment as William walks down the stairs and back outside. William, Claire, and Beatrice all kindly offered to help us with the move today, and I certainly do not want to leave them to do all the work, even if there are only a few boxes left in the truck. But as I turn around to face Richard, I cannot yet will myself to go back outside. His cheeks are red and his hair is an irresistible tousled mess of curls, and I cannot refrain from running my hand through it as he smiles at me. 

“We’re going to live together,” he says, his gaze warm. 

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” I reply teasingly, earning a look of fond annoyance from him. 

He chuckles, then squeezes my hands. “You’re not nervous at all? No second thoughts?” 

“Of course not! Why, did you expect me to have second thoughts?” 

“No, I just—it’s a big thing.” 

Unable to stop myself, I grin and glance down at his groin. “Yes, it is a big thing.” 

He laughs as another blush blooms on his cheeks. “You’re impossible,” he says, shaking his head, though the affection in his eyes is undeniable. 

My mischievous grin widens as I revel in the playful embarrassment I have managed to cause. “But seriously,” I begin, traces of laughter in my voice, “I’m not nervous and I’m not having any second thoughts. I’m so thrilled that we’re going to live together.” 

His smile softens, and he leans in to gently kiss me. “Me too.” 

William’s voice reaches us from outside. “Come on, lovebirds! Stop snogging and grab some boxes!” 

Chuckling, I give Richard’s hand a final squeeze before dragging him outside, though I wish I could spend the rest of the day kissing him. The air is thick and humid under the bright afternoon sun, but thankfully, after Beatrice and William make another trip into the house, only one box remains in the truck, and Richard effortlessly lifts it as if it were not filled with tons of heavy books. 

“Well, that’s the last of it,” Claire says with a relieved sigh.

“Thank you so much for all your help!” I say as we follow Richard into the house. 

“Anytime! It’s the least I could do to repay Richard for all the times he’s helped Will and I move in the past.” She looks up at Richard as he drops the box into the living room. “Remember when you helped Will and I move into our first flat?” 

He chuckles in remembrance. “That feels like a lifetime ago.” 

“It does!” she responds with a nostalgic sigh before turning her gaze back to me. “It was right after I graduated from uni. We moved into this horrible tiny flat in the Leicester city centre that was always cold and had no storage space, and I nearly broke up with Will because he never picked up after himself, and it was driving me crazy.” 

“Typical Will,” Richard says with a deep, rumbling laugh, and Claire rolls her eyes in agreement. 

“And the worst part is that he’s still like that! I hope for your sake, Lorelei, that this clown is tidier than his brother.” 

I chuckle. “Well, Richard can be a bit messy, but he tends to contain his mess to his office, and as long as it remains that way, it’s fine with me.” 

“Day one and you’re already the boss in the house, are you?” Richard retorts playfully as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “And I’m not messy—you’re just a neat freak.”

“I am not!” 

“Yes, you are!” Beatrice chimes in as she walks down the stairs, causing them to laugh. “We only lived together a few months and I honestly think any longer might have ruined our friendship.”

“Bea!”

“It was all ‘don’t dry your hands with that dish towel’, ‘you haven’t vacuumed your room in two weeks’, and ‘take off your shoes on the rug, you’re trailing mud all over the hallway’.”

“Stop before Richard changes his mind about living with me,” I respond with an embarrassed chuckle. 

But I have nothing to worry about as Richard pulls me into a hug and says, “Don’t worry. You’re my little neat freak, and nothing anyone says is going to make me change my mind.” He then presses a tender kiss atop my head, and I blush as Claire and Beatrice smile knowingly. 

“Well, Lorelei, you are officially moved in!” William announces as he joins us in the entry. “But don’t worry—we still have the truck so there’s still time to change your mind and run. Because I’m telling you, my brother can be difficult to deal with.” 

“Rumour has it you’re the one who’s difficult to live with,” I respond teasingly. 

William tilts his head questioningly, then narrows his eyes at Claire. “What lies have you been saying about me now, Amy Dunne?” 

Chuckling, she raises her brows in challenge. “Just that even our five year old son is often tidier than you are, which is not a lie.” 

“Only because you’re always nagging him to clean up his messes,” William retorts.

“Well, at least one of you listens.” 

“Behold, our future,” Richard whispers playfully in my ear, causing me to giggle. 

As the scorching summer sun makes way for a refreshing evening breeze, we all work tirelessly to unpack as many boxes as possible. We leave the endless boxes of books for later and tackle the kitchen first, and soon enough, all the counters are covered in dishes waiting to be organized into cabinets, forcing us to eat dinner in the living room, plates piled high with pizza. I grow silent when the conversation inevitably turns to Richard’s imminent move to Boston, selfishly wishing we could pretend for tonight that he is never leaving. Richard is clearly proud and excited about this new opportunity, but when he rests a hand on my thigh and squeezes me tight, I know he, too, wishes the same. 

Eventually, I make my way upstairs to continue unpacking in the bedroom, letting him enjoy his success and discuss his plans with the others. I am halfway through a third box of clothes when a knock on the door interrupts me, and I turn to find William standing in the doorway with a hesitant smile. 

“I was just coming to get some boxes to put in the recycling bin,” he explains, pointing to the pile of empty boxes in the corner. 

“Great, thanks!” I say. “But you can leave one or two here—Richard might need them to pack some of his things.” 

William nods, then pauses. “You doing ok?” 

I turn to him after folding a jumper into the drawer. “I’m doing great,” I answer with a slightly confused frown. 

“I mean, it can’t be easy—with him leaving for a year.” 

“Ah. That.”

William nods slowly. 

“Well… I wish he didn’t have to go, obviously,” I reply with a humourless chuckle. “But he has to—I want him to! I’d have to be really stupid to try to stop him, and I’d have to be even more stupid to give up on what we have because of this.” 

“My brother’s lucky to have you.” 

I smile, unsure how to respond. 

“I mean, to be able to count on you through all this…” 

“Are you referring to his ex Rebecca?” He nods. “Well, it’s different… We’re different people and—and he’s not asking me to uproot my whole life for him. It’s just one year, right?” I shrug again, trying to convince myself that it is not as difficult as it is. 

“Right.” A few moments of silence later, William chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come up here and get so serious. I just—I like you and I think you and my brother are great together. And I guess this is my weird and really awkward way of making sure you’re doing ok and reminding you that my brother’s a great guy and I think he’s worth the wait.” 

“He definitely is. And thanks,” I reply with a shy smile. 

He smiles in return, then clears his throat. “And hey, I know I’m not Richard. I mean, I’m funnier and more good-looking than him,” he begins with a playful smirk, causing me to chuckle. “But if you’re ever feeling down or whatever, and you want someone to talk to or hang out with while he’s away, I’m here. I can tell you all sorts of embarrassing stories about him.” 

Laughing, I shake my head. “I might take you up on that.” 

At that moment, Richard steps into the bedroom, and the brothers exchange a look before William leaves us alone, winking at me as he walks through the door. Still smiling, I turn to Richard, and the love I feel for him, and the joy of moving in with him momentarily chase away the ache in my heart. For now, he is still here, within arms’ reach, and I can pretend that this day is only the beginning of our new life together and not bringing us closer to our separation. 

With a soft smile, Richard closes the space between us, and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent as he wraps his strong arms around me. We remain in this embrace for a little while as the sun slowly dips below the houses at the end of the street, but eventually, Richard breaks the silence. “He’s not really funnier than me, is he?” 

My laughter echoes through the room as I look up to meet his eyes, which sparkle in the golden warmth of this summer evening. “No, of course not, love.”

A playful grin lights up his face. “Good.” 

Then he slowly leans in, and, understanding his intention, I stand on my tiptoes to meet his lips halfway in a tender kiss. He holds me tight, the fingers of one hand gently tracing patterns on my back while the other cradles my face, pulling me even closer and urging me to part my lips. I shiver as his tongue caresses mine, still marvelling at how easily he can awaken desire within me. Eventually, we are forced to break the kiss, and he rests his forehead against mine, his tender eyes slightly darker than usual. 

“I love you,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur. 

“I love you, too,” I reply in the same tone, pressing a lingering kiss onto his bearded jaw. 

“We’ve made some pretty good progress with the unpacking already, haven’t we?” 

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Good. So how about I start hinting that we’re getting tired so they leave and we can be alone?” 

I chuckle at his suggestive tone. “I like the way you think.” 

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#richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

[mistresskayla-blog1]

The Spoils of War

**TRIGGER WARNING** Sensitive smut material present

NSFW - NSFM 18+++

Characters: Raymond de Merville as Mars - God of War x OC Rhea Silvia

Lyn's Writing Event 2024 - Day 13 - Week 2

May 13th: Week 2: Mars (god of war) 18+++  NMDI NSFW

****TRIGGER WARNING****  (this will be in two parts)

Characters: (AU) Raymond de Merville (as Mars – God of War) x OC Rhea Silvia depiction   

Fandom: Richard Armitage – Pilgrimage – Raymond de Merville

The character of Raymond de Merville was created by Jamie Hannigan (for film)

The character of Rhea Silvia is a depiction from myths and legends written by Virgil and referred from the Aeneid (Book 1) and other Greek mythology.

This is my interpretation of a Greek myth. Enjoy.

Location: Ancient Rome – The Punic Wars  

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: graphic violence, rape, Greek undertones, shewolf, shame, abuse, dominant male, religious factions, character death, virginity, forced impregnation (implied), rope play, forced fellatio,

            Mars rode into the city, he was battered and bruised but triumphant in his latest battle. He saw a woman sitting on the steps of the temple and dismounted, somewhat compelled. As he approached her, a statesmen came up to him,

“Mars, how is the battles?” Amulius asked. Mars looked at Amulius and then to the woman, “It is well. Now what business do you have with me?” he gritted his teeth.

Amulius blocked his advance, “If you are looking to pursue her, I had a deal to strike with you”. Mars stopped moving, and looked down at Amulius, “I’m listening” mars said, cooly.

Amulius put a hand on his shoulder and stepped away from the steps further from steps, “That is my sister, Rhea Silvia, and I have made her a vestal virgin. She comes highly regarded but I cannot have her heirs, so, well” he looked at Mars and then down at the ground.

Mars nodded, “I see, so I can have her, but if she bears fruit I am to what? Kill my progeny?”

Amulius, “Yes, in a manner, but be not worried, she knows not of a man, she is pure. And –“

Mars cut him off, “That’s enough, I care not about such things. Send her to me tonight”. Mars walked off and away from Amulius and the distant Rhea Silvia, who looked towards him as he tread past. His armor glistened in the afternoon light and it clattered as he proceeded away.

Amulius stomped towards her, and pulled Rhea up from the steps, “You are to be a bride now, and that is final.” Rhea pulled her arm away, but Amulius was forceful, “Take your hand off me. I am a protected priestess”. Rhea tried to stand her ground.

Amulius glared at her, “I made you a vestal to keep you quiet, but now I have another use for you, but if you betray me and create heirs I will destroy you”. Rhea shuddered, “How am I to do that my.. (gulped) King?” Amulius amusedly looked at her, staring at her bosom that was covered in the gauzy fabric of the age, “I am sure you will please him, but you dare not enjoy it”.

Rhea eyes wide looked in a manner confused and terrified. Amulius led her away from the Vesta temple and down to some quarters where he ordered servants to strip her and bathe her. Rhea stood in the tub, tears running down her cheeks. Servants rubbed her down with cloths until her pale skin was reddened. Then they dressed her again in a bridal shift. 

Rhea was a beautiful woman, not like the goddesses they worshipped in what would become the city of Rome, but still quite taking, and her eyes were bright with promise, until today. Rhea trembled in her new gown, and waited until she was retrieved. A robe of dark blues was placed over her shoulders and clasped in the front. It was night now, and the chill of the area was setting in.

---

Torches were lit on the hall walls, and Amulius entered the room.

“It is time, the arrangements have been made, you are his wife now”. Amulius spoke. Rhea looked puzzled, “without a ceremony?” Amulius sneered, “This isn’t a public display, it is just affairs of state”. Rhea looked down and walked slowly towards him, “Please brother be merciful, he is a brut, surely you know that”. Amulius looked at Rhea in the eyes then, and unmistakably sighed greedily, “Oh, I’m counting on it”. Rhea’s eyes widened again, as Amulius let out a deep throaty sinister chuckle. Rhea gathered her robe tighter about her and followed him down the corridor.

A while later they were in the center of the palace, in a section she was unfamiliar with, even though she had spent many years exploring the palace as a child. She could smell the stench of unclean men and hear the ruckus of their chants. A revelry was going on in a room, and she looked up long enough to see them taking part in a drinking game of sorts. Pounding the table and shouting wildly, most men in various layers of battle garb, some nearly nude, she blushed discernibly.

Amulius knocked on a door in the corridor, and a gruff deep voice boomed on the other side. Rhea shivered, even though there was no breeze tonight. Amulius covered her face with the hood of the robe and waited for the door to open. Heavy foot falls came to the door, and when it lurched open a tall dark-haired man stood, somewhat undressed, from battle, an apple in his hand. Mars looked at Amulius amused, “Oh, right. Is this her then?” Mars looked to Rhea, whose eyes were careening past the shadow of her hood, he saw her soft lips, and he groaned into the apple as he took a bite, “Leave her with me” he said to Amulius. Amulius, smirked, “the papers are all in order, Mars”. Mars snatched a scroll from Amulius’ hand. Then looked him up and down again, scoffing, “For a King you do an awful lot of your own dirty work.”

Amulius, “This one I wanted to take care of personally. She is my niece after all”, he replied, bringing his arm around Rhea’s back and pushing her into Mars as he stood barring the doorway with his frame. Rhea’s eyes were fixed on his hulking chest, it breathed in and out as he chewed his apple, the crunching noise above her ears. She dare not look him in the eyes, she was far too nervous. Amulius retreated and went back to his own chambers for a night of blissful sleep.

            When Rhea knew he was out of earshot she fell to her knees in front of Mars, “Please, my, Archon, please take pity on me, and let me go back to my work a vestal, I promise I will bring no shame upon you.” Mars chuckled, still chewing his apple. He grabbed Rhea by the shoulder and drug her inside the room, closing the door and locking it. He dropped is hands from her shoulder and she dropped her hood. Her brown eyes stared up at him from the floor, and he tossed the apple core across the room and yanked her up to her feet. His eyes searched hers for something, innocence? Meaning? Love? Hate? Rhea did not know. Rhea saw him visibly smell her, take her in, his hands squeezing her upper arms so intensely she let out a little whimper. Mars shook her a little at that, and Rhea turned her head away from him. Mars set her on her feet then, and placed his hand across her chin, “You think I care about your family’s honor. I am a god amongst men” he spat, his face was so close to her, she could smell the apple on his breath, amongst other things and feel the heat of his breath. Mars pivoted and tossed her towards the bed then made two hasty strides to meet her there.

Rhea cowered at the end of the bed; eyes bright. Rhea slumped to the floor again, but removed her robe, leaving her shift that was so thin, he could see the nipples bead against the fabric. He picked her up again, and set her on the end of the bed, and grabbed her breast in his meaty hand, and massaged it, his thumb brushing the nipples through the fabric. Rhea felt a new sensation tingle through her, but she was still scared. Her other nipple followed suit and pursed against the fabric. Mars watched her face as she let him touch her. All things happened in microseconds of time.

Mars tore at her gown, exposing all of her to him. He roared excitedly and shucked off his pants hastily. Rhea shivered again, and closed her eyes, as his hands were all over her. Gripping her buttocks, her hips, and brushing by her throat. His one hand on the back of her neck, he stared at her, then grabbed his cock in his other hand, and started to stroke it. Rhea looked down shamefully and was amazed at what she saw. It was large and veiny and it pulsed in his hand, extending from his body. Rhea had never seen anything like that before. He panted a bit, as he said, “Suck it” to her, and then he pushed her mouth towards his cock. She didn’t know what to do, so she closed her eyes, and he grabbed her hair and pulled, “Look at it!” he barked. She still had use of her hands, so she tried to touch him, but he simply shoved his cock into her open mouth and started to rock into her, his hand on her hair was tight and he fucked her throat with righteous abandon. Rhea gagged and spat and tried to breathe.

Mars just kept fucking her, and moaning, happily, “oh, in all my years” he crowed. Rhea pushed at him and gasped as he pulled out, his hold of her hair loosened. Mars let go of her and she choked and spat on to the floor. Her back was turned so she did not see the rope he gathered from the bedclothes. He tied her hands behind her, “So you won’t get away, or think to mark me up. I have a reputation to hold in the bordellos, you know” he smirked and chuckled, his voice deeper now. Mars picked Rhea up again, by her arms and laid her on her back on the bed, her arms tied and pinned beneath her. He stroked his cock again, filling the slick of her spit on it in revelry. He pushed his thighs against hers, parting them. Rhea tensed, not knowing what to expect next, but only hearing stories from the older ladies of the village.

Mars rubbed his cock against her mound, and felt a warmth and slickness, “You told me you haven’t been with a man, then why are you wet?” he cajoled. Rhea’s face flushed with heat, “I don’t know my archon, I.. I”. Mars leaned over her, and spoke against her lips, “It doesn’t matter now, you are mine, now, I can mark you however I wish, and I don’t care about Amulius’ little treaty.  I’ll fill you with my pups until you can’t stand it anymore”, he said grinned wildly. As he stood back up, pulling her ass to the edge of the bed. Mars entered her with conviction and Rhea screamed from the mixing of flesh on flesh and the tearing of her insides it seemed. Mars roared louder feeling her tightness against his throbbing cock. Her walls were untouched and it felt amazing, he pounded into her, holding her hips, his hands gripping her tight. Rhea’s legs were draped past either hip, limp, but not willing. Mars looked at her, and saw her ashen face, he slowed down a moment. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, towards her ears.

“Been a while since I had a virgin” he cackled, “And your so fucking sweet, you may turn me into a softer man.” Mars stayed deep inside her, Rhea’s pussy trembled around him, pulsing. Rhea could feel a warmth in her core now, it rose and fell with his thrusts, but in his stillness, there was a yearning for more. Mars felt the twitch of her cunt, and he smiled again, leaning down to bite her neck, and sucked her flesh between his teeth, “Mine” he growled. And Rhea let out a sensational moan, she hadn’t ever heard herself make that sound before, “My archon, what was..” Rhea murmured. Mars stopped sucking her neck, and came to look upon her, “That my wife was a moan”. Rhea nearly giggled, but still was mightily uncomfortable.

Mars started his pace again, thrusting deep and fast into her, and panting as he went. His eyes bore into hers, and still tears filled hers in fright and confusion. Mars pulled out of her and readjusted her. He picked her up by the waist, turned her around and pushed her face first into the bed, her ass presented for him. Mars grinned broadly, “oh the gods did smile upon me this day.” And Mars grabbed Rhea’s ass, massaging it greedily, parting her cheeks, and pressing his cock into her pussy again. Rhea moaned, but into the bed. Mars’ cock strained and grew thicker as he pushed deeper and pumped faster. He could feel his climax building inside him, and he wanted to fill her core with as much of his seed as he could. He needed to, to rebel against that spoiled King, Amulius.

Mars kept pushing deeper, right to her Rhea’s cervix, and he banged into it with great relish, bruising it, and causing more spasms inside her. Rhea did not know how to orgasm, he knew that, and her body reacted to him just as nature intended. Rhea’s face was smooshed into the bed clothes, her ass in the air, her core spasming. She felt totally out of control, and she made little sounds with her mouth, but she didn’t know if they were a call for relief or more. Mars went faster and faster and harder and harder. Rhea spasmed around his cock, and as he cum, shooting his hot load against her cervix, washing it with his seed, Mars growled again, and pulled Rhea’s torso up to meet his chest.

His hand drifted lazily against her folds, and he rubbed her clit a little. Kissing her neck, softer now, as she gasped from his fingers on her. His cock was still inside her, pulsing, and when he touched her clit, Rhea’s eyes rolled back in her head in joyful sadness, “Please, my archon, I don’t understand”.  He shushed against her cheek, “Its alright, you’ll understand one day, I’ll teach you”. Rhea’s eyes closed then, tears rolling down her cheeks. Mars cock was still hard, and he pumped into her a few more times, her pussy still clamping onto him, Mars breath hitched against her neck, “You are amazing, just think what can happen, when you know what your doing.”

Rhea blushed at those words, the warmth in her belly transferring to her cheeks. Mars’ arm held her to him, across her chest and against his own. Rhea’s arms still bound behind her. Mars set her down gently then and untied her. He rubbed her wrists, and checked for marks, tossing the rope aside. Rhea turned to him, gathering herself into a sitting position, her knees up at her chest. Mars looked at her then and realized how youthful her face, in the torchlight. “My god, you really are beautiful aren’t you?” Rhea looked down, and wept into her knees. Mars’ seed was oozing out of her pussy, and he noticed it gathering on the bed. He coaxed her with whispered to her to ‘lay down’, and he propped her legs up, against his side.

Mars gathered a bit of covers over her then. And Rhea gratefully accepted them. Mar’s propped his hand on his head and looked at her. Rhea looked at him still puzzled, “What are we doing now?” Mars lazily retorted, “trying to make heirs so your uncle will lose all he has”. Rhea smiled then for the first time all night, “Oh, well, if that’s what it takes, I will try my best.” Mars grinned, letting his finger make circles on her belly against the blanket, “And if it doesn’t, we can just keep trying.” Rhea looked at him then still a little shaken, “But not like that, every time, right?”

Mars looked down a second, a light in his eyes shining warmly towards her, “No, not every time,” he paused, sitting up a bit, “Unless I’m fresh from battle, I tend to be an ogre”, his boyish grin is almost endearing. Rhea tries to feel something besides the tenderness between her legs and the utter sadness of losing her position as priestess, “So what does a wife of a guard captain do?” Mars looked at her with as much seriousness as he could muster in that moment, “Take care of me, I guess. I honestly don’t know”. Rhea actually felt a bit lighter as at his relaxed confession, “Well maybe we can make it as we go along?” she asked. Mars looked at her a bit steely, his blue eyes sharpening in the lamplight “Perhaps.” Rhea nodded in understanding.

(Part 2?)

Taglist:

@ scariusaquarius @legolasbadass @sweetestgbye @middleearthpixie @evenstaredits @lathalea @riepu10

Lyn’s writing event 2024 

#richard armitage x oc #lyns writing event 2024 #richard armitage #raymond de merville #pilgrimage au #rapekink #smut #ropebondage #shewolf #impregnate her #romance #fanfiction #forced impreg #forced bj

[blankdblank]

#Richard Armitage x oc #long fic

[lathalea]

Wild Strawberries

Moodboard by @linasofia 😍

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x f!OC Warnings: smut, pure smut, so help me Mahal Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Several years after Erebor is reclaimed, Thorin decides to celebrate his beloved wife's birthday... and is very enthusiastic about it. A/N: This story is a birthday gift for @legolasbadass from Linasofia and yours truly. Once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LB! 🎉🎁🎈

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Bunnelê - my treasure of treasures

Leaving the northmost spur of the Lonely Mountain behind him, Thorin entered the forest at its foot. The lush, dark emerald sea of pine trees surrounded him; each of them at least as tall as two grown Men—their rapid growth being the result of the magic the elves of the Woodland Realm bestowed upon this land in exchange for goods only Erebor could provide them with. It was a bright summer day and the sun speckled the undergrowth of the forest with gold, as if someone scattered countless coins across it. A small smile curved up Thorin’s lips at the recollection of that very profitable agreement with the Elves and the role his clever wife played in hammering it out a couple of years ago. Anila… Ah, his sweet Anila and her talent of finding useful information in ancient tomes and musty treaties. Then, her cunning negotiation tactics side-blinded the Sylvan negotiator, driving every single clause home. The precedent she found—dating five hundred years ago—was instrumental in cornering the Elves and making them agree to their conditions. There was nothing better than the taste of flawless victory… especially if followed by a private but intense celebration that took place in his marital bed. 

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the tension leave his body. Being the king of a prosperous Dwarvish kingdom was a great privilege, but also a sizable burden; one that could have felt almost unbearable at times—if not for the assistance of his royal consort. Thank Mahal for the ancient tradition that required the king to take a wife. At first, this was to be an arranged marriage but one day spent in Anila’s company when they met for the first time, a year after Erebor was reclaimed, was enough for Thorin to know this would be an union of both hearts and minds.

Today was a special day: his wife’s birthday. Thorin’s most trusted companions and aides were working deep in the mountain, at the shore of the underground lake, preparing the celebrations for the evening: there were hundreds of candles to be lit and put onto minuscule boats that would float on the lake; countless flowers to decorate the caverns; dozens of dishes to be served, music and dances to be planned, and many other surprise attractions to be planned. Thorin’s task was to divert Anila’s attention until it was time for the celebrations—and diverting his lovely wife’s attention happened to be one of his favourite pastimes.

And so he found himself on the forest path, with a full picnic basket in his hand, on his way to Anila’s favourite hideout. From time to time, she would disappear with a thick roll of parchments and a quill and then return hours later with a mysterious smile on her face and ink-stained fingers. Thorin would take her hand into his, place an ardent kiss over her knuckles and ask what she had been up to. The smile on her delicious lips would widen, she would hide that roll of parchments behind her back, rise up on her tiptoes, peck his cheek, and murmur into his ear, “It is a secret of the state, my king.” The sultry tones in her voice would make his blood sing in his veins—that was a clear invitation to flirt, and with Anila, that game two of them played often ended with their clothes scattered all around, and them panting, their bodies entangled, in the most unusual places of the Mountain.

That was his Anila, an incandescent mix of fire and tenderness.

Today, she mysteriously disappeared before he woke, and now he was finally on her trail. He took a few more steps ahead among the brambles, careful not to make any noise, when he saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a blanket. It was Anila; her back was turned towards him, but he would recognize the dress she wore, one of her favourites, and the silky waves of her beautiful hair everywhere, dark as smoky quartz, the braids that adorned it, and the marriage beads with the sigil of his house he offered her over the marriage anvil on the day of their wedding. Her hair was side-swept to the right, uncovering the column of her neck, and Thorin licked his lips at the sight, wanting to press them against that smooth skin and taste it.

Later, he scolded himself. He was on a mission, after all.

After slowly placing the basket on the ground, he soundlessly kneeled inches behind her. Whatever Anila was doing, she was clearly focused, so much so that she did not notice his approach. Only when his hands covered her eyes from behind, she squeaked in surprise.

“Guess who…” Thorin murmured straight into her ear, his voice low and sensual. He was very much aware of the effect his voice had on her and he was determined to make a good use of it today.

“Thorin…! You scared me!” she chuckled, looking anything but frightened. Anila turned her face back towards him, taking his hands into hers and lowering them onto her lap. He still held her in an embrace and did not plan to let her go.

“Have I?” He lifted his eyebrow in amusement, moving his lips closer to hers. “May I remedy it somehow?”

Anila blinked, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“That would depend on the remedy, my king,” she offered.

He brushed his lips oh-so-lightly against hers. They were as soft as he remembered, and she smelled like those blue flowers he never remembered the name of, so sweet and innocent, like the break of a new day. When she held her breath as their lips joined for a few heartbeats, a sign that he had her full attention, Thorin deepened the kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster, his hand delving into her cascading hair, until he felt her body pressing against him in anticipation for more. A large part of him wanted to continue, coaxed by her dizzying closeness and that little sigh she gave, but he needed to follow his plan. It was his wife’s birthday and this day needed to be perfect—just like her.

He moved back slightly, giving her cheek a slight caress with his fingertips and trying to ignore the wave of arousal he felt looking at her slightly swollen lips, like fresh raspberries, her shining eyes, and her heaving bosom. She wore a green dress, one of her favourites, that happened to be one of his favourite garments of hers as well due to a generously revealing neckline. Mahal, this plan of his was more difficult to carry out than he thought. He was supposed to be the one offering distraction, not the other way around.

“I brought the remedy with me, my queen,” he hummed, placing the heavy basket between them and sitting down beside it. It contained the best delicacies the royal kitchens had to offer.

“A lunch?” she peeked under the colourfully embroidered piece of cloth that covered the basket. “It smells lovely.”

“I cannot allow my wife to starve, can I?” Thorin replied, taking in the way she looked at that moment—with a playful smile and golden specks of sun kissing her face, one of them dancing at the tip of her nose. He wondered whether his plan of having a romantic midday meal with his wife would be ruined if he was to kiss that very spot now.

“You are a very attentive husband. Let us eat, then!” Anila decided, putting away a stack of parchments from her lap to the side. Her fingers were stained with ink.

“May I ask what you were working on?” Thorin said, taking out all kinds of food from the basket. Freshly baked bread, three kinds of cheese straight from Dale, white radishes, a jar of honey, hazelnuts and a bottle of good wine from his private cellar.

“You may,” Anila reached for the bread. “But I will not tell you. Not yet, at least. It is not yet finished.”

“So it is as I feared. You are writing a memoir of our scandalous marriage,” Thorin crunched on a radish with gusto.

He adored making her laugh and the way her laughter found its way to her eyes.

“I doubt Erebor is ready for such a read,” she uttered between giggles. “Besides, technically speaking, the events pertaining to our marriage are a state secret and therefore cannot be made public.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not think I would be happy if our whole kingdom would know of my wife’s talents,” he cast her a meaningful glance. “I would rather keep to myself the things you can do with your… ouch!”

A piece of bread hit him right in the middle of his chest as Anila cleared her throat loudly.

“... brilliant mind. I meant your brilliant mind!” Thorin explained, trying to make his words sound as sincere as he could.

“Truly? Is that what you are thinking about at this very moment?” she teased.

“What else? I am still in awe about the way you handled those envoys from Minas Tirith,” Thorin hoped he looked like an embodiment of innocence at the moment.

“Oh? Remind me?” Anila tilted her head and gracefully licked her honey-covered fingers. It made Thorin swallow hard. That vixen. She knew very well what she was doing to him, but he was going to be strong and so he continued this charade.

“That expression of shock on their faces when they understood they would be discussing matters of state with a woman! And the realisation that you completely outwitted them!” Thorin could not help himself but chuckle at the memory.

“Ah yes, I seem to remember something along these lines,” she admitted, lazily taking another bite of bread and looking into his eyes. A drop of honey landed on her shapely bosom, making Thorin lick his lips as it glistened in the sun.

“And so you should, bunnelê. You used their greatest weakness against them marvellously. I will never understand why the People of Men underestimate their women so,” he reached out to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. Not over the knuckles, oh no, his lips found the centre of her palm and pressed against her skin. She smelled like flowers in bloom and tasted like honey. Despite the food they ate, his hunger was far from satiated.

“Cultural differences, my love,” Anila replied, cupping his bearded jaw before freeing her hand from his. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers brushing against his beard. “One of our greatest assets when dealing with Men.”

“Exactly as I said, brilliant mind,” he gave her a playful smirk that coaxed a silvery burst of laughter from Anila.

This atmosphere—and their mutual teasing—reigned throughout the whole meal, accompanied by the twittering of the forest birds and gentle rustling of trees. You are a lucky Dwarf, thought Thorin, enjoying the feeling of content, laying on his side, his body weight resting on his elbow as he admired the sight in front of him. A beautiful day spent with a companion who is not only beautiful but also smart… to the point of putting your willpower to a test with her merciless teasing. And she happens to be your wife. Just look at her, the way the summer breeze plays with her hair, the way she takes a sip of wine, her sensual lips wrapping over the edge of her cup, or the way her fingers seem to dance in the air as she explains something about that newest decree on mining safety. And the way she speaks your name, with so much feeling and softness in her eyes. Is she not perfect? The true queen of your heart?

Thorin would never put these thoughts into words, of course. His wife would surely think him ridiculously mawkish and overly sentimental. The king of the Khazad of the Lonely Mountain should be anything but ridiculous. The best course of action was to keep such maudlin thoughts to himself.

“I think a dessert is in order,” he decided after a few more moments of his reverie.

“A dessert? I feel so full, I do not think I can eat even a bit more,” Anila sighed.

Thorin simply said, “Wild strawberries.”

“What?” she gasped.

He placed a small woven basket in front of her, its contents covered with peppermint leaves.

“How…? This forest is too young for wild strawberries…” she whispered to herself, removing the leaves and seeing small, oblong ruby-red shapes laid out in layers. “They smell delicious. It has to be magic!”

“Try one and see for yourself,” Thorin gave her a triumphant smile. Surprising his wife was something he never had enough of. Perhaps it was also partially because of the enthusiastic way she showed their gratitude, but even a king could be self-indulgent from time to time, he decided.

“A rider from the Woodland Realm brought them at the break of dawn,” he divulged his secret, admiring the way his wife put one of the berries into her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed approvingly.

“You asked King Thranduil for a handful of the first wild strawberries of the season?” she then asked.

“Aye.”

“And he agreed?”

“Aye.”

“And sent a messenger to you in the middle of the night?”

“As you can see,” he pointed at the berries in front of them.

“Are you truly telling me you had a peaceful conversation with Thranduil during which you agreed on something? Without shouting and cursing each other’s ancestors five generations back? I think I will go with the ‘magic’ explanation,” Anila shook her head, but Thorin noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes.

“I did not say there was no shouting involved,” he humoured her.

“If you say so,” she chuckled and took another berry. “Mmmm… They are very sweet. Have you tasted them yet?”

Thorin shook his head.

Without a word, she put the berry into his mouth and let him close his lips over her lingering fingers a moment before she retreated them.

“Very sweet indeed,” he admitted, still feeling her caress against his skin. “Just like you.”

Now it was his turn to take a berry and offer it to Anila. Her lips opened a bit and she gently took it between her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing against his fingertips. A wave of heat passed through him, a multitude of thoughts flooded his mind, but not a single one of them was mawkish.

Before he had a chance to react, she put another berry into his mouth and sealed it with hers. A low purr escaped him when their lips met, her kiss even sweeter than the fruit, and he tasted her to his heart’s content. There was tenderness and gentleness in that kiss, but the song of her supple lips dancing against his spoke of fire kindling inside her—and in his mind, Thorin agreed that it was time for another kind of distraction. He covered her cheeks with a myriad of feather-light kisses, whispering words of adoration into her ear as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his scalp, eliciting a groan of pleasure out of him. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, revelling in the way she responded to him, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips on fire. Then his lips traced a smooth trail along the line of her jaw, and found the way to her neck. Each of his kisses aimed at claiming her skin, every single inch of it. She tilted her head back invitingly and he continued his explorations, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, and then adorning that place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with kisses, precisely the way she liked it. When she rewarded him with a moan, he felt her body tremble in anticipation. Thorin was still hungry, hungry for her, even hungrier than before, and he refused to restrict himself any longer. Not on a day like this. 

He lay her on the blanket, her eyes shining, her cheeks slightly flushed, the round peaks of her breasts rising and falling, her hair scattered around her head, glowing in the sun like a halo or richly veined marble, and he found himself in need of stealing yet another kiss.

“Anila,” he murmured, “you are breathtaking.”

She did not reply—busy with stealing a kiss from him this time and wrapping her arms around his neck—while his hand travelled down until he felt that round, supple softness under his palm and the warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. He played with the idea of simply ripping her bodice—her whole gown—apart and feasting on her naked body until dusk and beyond… and then wrapping her in his cloak and smuggling her back into the mountain for a long and eventful bath, the birthday celebrations be damned, but this tempting plan had to wait. Instead, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze and proceeded to undo the front of her bodice while his lips slipped down her neck and found the sweet spot on her left breast that tasted like honey.

“The High Council…” Anila gasped as his tongue swirled over her skin and then his lips closed over the spot again. “That meeting tomorrow… They will be scandalized when they see that hickey, my love…”

“We both know they will not say a word about it,” he chuckled. “Just as it happened last month, remember?”

“I forget what a clever strategist you are. Yes, I remember, Master Finulv was speechless, Balin pretended not to notice anything, and you could barely keep awake during that council meeting. That high collar doublet suited you very well, by the way,” she admitted, helping herself to the buttons of his tunic.

“It was my attempt at covering the proof of my wife’s fiery temperament,” he smirked, observing Anila’s nimble fingers at work. “I do not think I was successful. Master Bragi did not dare to lift his gaze from his notes even once.”

His wife’s only response was a chuckle just before she covered his lips with hers.

Among the kisses and caresses generously bestowed upon each other, among their whispers and sighs, they eagerly shed most of their clothes. Thorin gave out a satisfied hum, admiring Anila’s sun-speckled skin, the alluring curves of her body glowing as if imbued with the light of thousands of Ereborean diamonds. He was certain there were words that could describe this vision of ethereal beauty before him, but he could not find any. 

“My king seems to be lost in thoughts,” he heard her say playfully. “Allow me to help you.”

Anila lowered herself in front of him and her hands started roaming his body, releasing him from his trousers. Her kisses burning a bold path on his lower abdomen, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her; of her nimble fingers wrapping around his already hardened manhood; of her hair like silk between his fingers, of her lovely lips that closed over his tip, of her sultry gaze, of the soft heat he was delving into, of her palm that…

“Anila… Mahal…” His wife knew him so well and she knew exactly what would please him, but today was not about him. “Allow me to take care of you first.”

“I was under the impression that you were in the mood for dessert,” she looked up at him innocently, licking her lips. Vixen. Merciless vixen. And he wanted more of her.

“Oh yes, I do,” he smiled, moving towards her.

“A dessert…” she gave out a chuckle when his lips greedily closed over her nipple, lavishing it with attention. Between the gentle nibbles and soft kisses scattered over her rosy peaks, among her sighs and his praising murmurs, his hands painted devout patterns along her body, in an act of physical worship. Thorin did not wish to stop; he craved to cover all off her body with his kisses, to bedeck it with his caresses, to offer his queen endless ecstasy. He wanted to offer her as much pleasure as he could and revel in her rapture. Soon she was stretched beneath him, pleading for more, her fingers entangled with his hair as his tongue drew spirals around her navel, his lips covered the softness of her lower belly, his hands caressed the roundness of her hips.

When his kisses finally moved to her thighs, and his hot breath skimmed the mound between them, Anila whispered, “Have mercy...”

“What do you wish for, my queen?” He lifted his gaze to her face, her eyes hooded with pleasure, her lips slightly parted, her breathing fast, her fingers playing with her nipple. What a beguiling view it was.

“I want you to please me, Thorin,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly. This was the only invitation he needed.

“Your word is my command,” he replied. Settling himself between her legs, he cupped her bottom, enjoying its round firmness. It fit perfectly in his large hands and he lifted her slightly. Anila moaned in delight when he eagerly buried his mouth between her thighs, his beard brushing against them. She writhed beneath him as he showered her most intimate places with kisses and caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His tongue explored the folds of her womanhood. The taste of her arousal made him even harder than before, made him dizzy with desire for her, but that had to wait. Now he was intent on pleasing her this way and so his lips found the most sensitive point on her body, tenderly tugging on the silky bud, and then started sucking on it. He heard her whimpers, her incoherent mewling spurring him on, and he continued his ministrations, pleasing his queen. 

He gripped her thighs firmly when his tongue sank rhythmically into her, evoking waves of elation, one after another, each of them stronger than the previous one. Thorin recognized the signs all too well, and he drove her further and further, among the heights of pleasure, bringing her closer towards the very peak of ecstasy with every caress. Purring into her flesh, he caressed her swollen nub with his thumb, feeling how she arched against him as waves of pleasure sent tremors of ecstasy through her body, and he relentlessly kept on taking her even higher until her blissful moans and praises echoed through the forest. He stopped only after Anila went completely limp beneath him, one of her hands letting go of the fistful of the blanket. 

Thorin moved up towards her, pressing his lips to her shoulder, and then brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, her long eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks, beads of sweat covering her forehead. His caress caused a small smile to bloom on her lips, but her eyelids remained closed.

“Is my queen pleased?”

“A little bit…” she muttered, smiling still. “But I wouldn’t mind a second… no, that would be a third course.”

“Insatiable woman,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her collarbone. His fingers busied themselves in lining out the shapes of her breasts and unhurriedly following the curves of her ribs. Then his tongue joined in, exploring new, exciting paths on her body, each of them punctuated by her moan. Mahal was a great architect indeed, creating such wonders as this woman beside him. Compared with the elegant lines of her body, he felt like a block of unhewn stone; and yet when she lay so close against him, it felt as if they were made from the same piece of rock. Perhaps the Creator put all of his energy into making Thorin’s life companion perfect and decided it was enough. In fact, she was more than he could ever hope for. Absent-mindedly, he took Anila’s hand into his and placed a tender kiss onto her wrist.

Anila gave out a content sigh and opened her eyes, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Insatiable? It is because you have spoiled me rotten,” she stated. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, coaxing him closer to her, and when she closed the distance between their lips, he hummed approvingly. A new fire woke in her and there was hunger in her kiss, the same hunger that had been wreaking havoc through his body since the moment he saw her alone in this place. Her hip brushed against his erect member and he let out a low growl-like moan. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Anila found his hand and placed it over her breasts.

“Make love to me, Thorin,” the words were simple, but the timbre of her voice brought a much deeper meaning with them. And the desire in her eyes met with tenderness in her gaze.

“My queen,” he murmured, offering her an affectionate kiss, the softness of her lips giving him a promise he was eager to see fulfilled.

His kisses were careful, measured, and yet thorough, each of them aiming at telling her things he was unable to say with words. One of his hands caressed her body, eliciting sweet little sighs from her, until it found the secret trail that led his fingers to the treasure she hid between her legs. The moans that filled his ears in response to his feather-light caresses sounded like music.

“Is this to your liking, my queen?” he asked while his fingers explored her boldly, dancing in circles around all her sensitive spots and enticing even more moans from her. This, combined with feeling how aroused she still was, caused his manhood to throb even more in anticipation. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“You know it is very much to my liking,” she admitted, bestowing a smile upon him. “But I need more.”

Thorin could not stop himself any longer. Taking his manhood in his hand, he growled with arousal, feeling her wetness against him. Anila tilted her hips, offering herself to him and he cast her a satisfied look, devouring her with his gaze. It was not long before he pressed his tip to the heat of her core. An unhurried thrust of his hips brought him home, his torments rewarded at last. He lowered himself over her and repeated the movement, studying her face as she bit her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yes, Thorin, more,” she whispered, taking deep breaths. 

As he covered her body with his, Anila seemed so small under him, almost fragile, and yet she was perfect. He knew he needed to be gentle with her at first, and he did that gladly, anticipating the bliss that awaited them both. He could feel how snug she was around him, how an occasional tremble of pleasure came from deep within her as he carefully moved another inch forward.

As her body accommodated to his hardness, he gave another slow thrust, filling her completely. Her breath hitched and she welcomed him with a small cry of pleasure.

“My lovely, lovely Anila,” Thorin whispered, unmoving, his lips brushing against her forehead, his thumb running across her cheek. He knew his size was a challenge for her, but every single time she took him in with passionate eagerness that multiplied his arousal. “We fit so well together, do we not?”

“We do,” her melodic, dreamy voice reached him, her breath wafting against his sensitive earlobe. “I don’t think I will be able to let you go.”

With these teasing words, she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips slightly. That made him burrow himself even deeper into the dewy paradise of her womanhood.

“Then don’t,” he rasped out. “We can stay like this for as long as you like. Only say a word, my queen.”

“Then take all the time in the world with me,” she decided.

And so he did. With his movements slow and measured, his eyes remained on her face, revelling in the growing signs of ecstasy he noticed. Anila, his wife, his queen, deserved all he could give her—and more. Her first (or rather third) peak of ecstasy came soon, just after he changed the pace, murmuring seductive promises into her ear. Her lengthy moan rang out in the air as her body trembled with ecstasy. It took all of his resolve not to follow her over the edge at that very moment, but Thorin denied himself that pleasure. He was not finished with her, there was more he wanted to give. He paused, cradling her face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on her burning hot lips, waiting for her to recover, but Anila’s affectionate gaze once again rested on him as she asked for more.

Soon he found himself finding the perfect rhythm, sinking inside her for what seemed forever. As he drowned in Anila’s eyes, their moans intertwined, celebrating the union of their bodies. They were drifting away together on the sea of their shared passion. Every thrust was a promise of endless joy Thorin would offer her, every caress was imbued with his adoration, echoed by his whispers until they came together as one. She clung to him, responding to his every move, her nails sinking in his back, driving him forward, demanding more, and he gave it to her in a series of rapid thrusts, the waves of their bliss growing higher to finally wash over them in pure rapture.

***

“Happy birthday, sweet Anila,” he murmured as he rolled on his back, his arm wrapped around her, but she only hummed something incoherent in response and cuddled up closer to him under the clear blue sky above.

They remained in a sweet, languid embrace for an eternity—or perhaps minutes—Anila’s head resting on Thorin’s chest, her arm limp across his stomach, her hair scattered across his body, his nose full of her flowery scent. Their breaths evened out and the only sounds around them came from the birds in the trees and he found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Thorin…” Anila breathed into his skin after a longer while. 

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye reluctantly.

“You are as wild as these berries,” she pointed towards the forgotten fruits, now scattered among the grass.

“Am I?” He hummed into her hair.

“I think I will have to personally thank King Thranduil for your fervour,” she replied with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, wife… unless you’d like to be spanked,” Thorin protested.

She chuckled and he felt her hand travelling down his abdomen, “Is that a promise, my king?”

“Insatiable woman,” he managed to say before her lips stopped him from talking for a very long time. For perhaps all the time in the world.

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[theblogofdurin]

Cloaked in Green || Pt.2 || Chp. 25: Bolg & Bard

word count: 1.3ishk

summary: more intel on the story of Arathorn and Gilraen, while Aranea reveals what has been going on to her most trusted company man.

a/n: sorry for the unexpected hiatus and short chapter. I promise to do better. College has been rough and I have midterms coming up so it might be a bit before I post again. So Please Like, Reblog and comment down below and I'll talk to you guys next time.

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Oc

links-> series masterlist, chp.24, reader guide.

--○•○•○•○--

“Bye Mama!!” the little voices yelled in unison in the back of the wagon, as they leaned over the railing on the bed.

“Behave for your father!” Gilraen waved a finger sternly at the tiny heads “Or I won’t hesitate to lop off your rear ends when you get back”.

Despite her tough exterior with her warning, Gilraen is panicking on the inside. This would be the first time the twins were leaving the camp, and it was the first time she would be separated from them for more than a night. She was nervous, to say the least.

Arathron had another meeting in Imladris and per tradition, on the Eve of the next Heir's-(or in this case, Heir(s)'s-) 6th birthday, the family would travel to the Hidden Valley for the elven blessing and earning of their Sindarin names. However, the twins' birthday falls in line with the Harvest, and with the amount of work there is; Arathron and Gilraen decided it was best for one of them to stay behind. Gilraen being the obvious choice.

“We promise, Mama!” Little Aragorn grinned over at her, causing a small laugh to escape her. ‘Exactly like his father,’ she thought, ‘ ever the charmer.’

“We’ll be good” Little Aranea grinned the same grin as her brother, causing another laugh from their mother. There was no denying that despite Aranea's longer mid-back hair, and Aragorn's shoulder-length hair, they were practically identical despite being fraternal.

“We’ll be okay, Gil-.” stated Arathron as he threw in the last prevision bags in the bed of the wagon, a bigger version of the same grin rested on his face. “-We’ll only be gone for a week or so.” He came around the wagon to place a comforting grip on her shoulder, kissing the top of her head.

“Just be safe,” she spoke softly up at him.

“The safest.” he grinned before pressing a soft kiss onto her lips. Gilraen smiled happily into the kiss, resting her hands comfortably on her husband's chest as his hands went to rest lower, nicely and smoothly on her hips.

“EWW” the twins sounded off. Rolling his eyes, Arathron pulled away with a soft goodbye to his wife before turning around to the giggling kids.

“Alright, you heathens." he chuckled at them teasingly. "-let’s get on the road.”

“YAY!” tiny cheers erupted from the bed as he climbed up to the driver's seat, reaching for the reins of the two beautiful draft horses at the front.

“Bye, love,” Arathron smiled as he flicked the reins, Gilraen blew a kiss.

“BYE MAMA!!” the twins yelled as the wagon began to move, Gilraen smiled as she waved her hand.

“Be safe!" She blew more kisses, "-And Listen to your father!”

Floating down the river in a barrel was all part of the plan.

However! Floating down the river in a barrel with Bilbo was NOT part of the plan.

Aranea groaned mentally as she adjusted slightly in the barrel. Bilbo squeaked as his back pressed into her chest like a small child.

“Anything behind us!”

“I think we’ve outrun them!” Balin yelled, wiping the water off his face. “I can’t see any movement in the treelines!”

“It won't be for long!” Bofur yelled back. “We lost the current!”

“And poor Bifur is already half drowned!” Bombur's loud baritone voice yelled after his brother. Looking behind her, Aranea almost rolled her eyes, at the sight of a pair of boots sticking up out of the said dwarf’s barrel.

“Make for the shore!” Thorin’s voice answered. “Let’s go!”

Paddling farther up the river, Aranea spoke softly to the hobbit in front of her, "Hold on to the edge," before sliding out of the barrel.

"Aran-" Bilbo started as he watched with wide eyes before stopping when he realized…she was standing.

Up to her waist in the river, Aranea pushed slightly on Bilbo's barrel to usher him closer to shore, before moving downstream to pull the others closer.

“Come on!” she yells over to Nori and Ori, waving a hand to encourage them to move faster.

Behind her, Kili falls to his knees in pain from the arrow wound in his thigh. Fili immediately rushes to him.

“Ki?” he gasped as he saw the blood. Oin immediately rushes over. They began quickly bandaging the wound, as they whispered among themselves.

Aranea got up to the shore following Balin, pulling her hair behind her, in a ponytail fashion, as she spoke quietly up to the dwarf in front of her “Balin..” she gestured, “I need to talk to you.”

“Not now lass; but I am glad that you are back with us.” he added as he dragged himself up the rocks.

“Balin, this is serious,” she stressed as she rushed up next to him.

Not that far away, only hearing the tail end of their conversation, Thorin spoke loudly, “Agreed, There’s an orc pack on our tail; we need to keep moving."

“To where?” Balin threw his hands up as he gestured around them. "And how?"

“To the mountain; " Bilbo pointed up to the western sky, "we’re so close."

Moving the hobbit's hand to point North-East, Balin sighed exasperated “A lake lies between us and that mountain. We have no way to cross it.”

“So then we go around.” Bilbo threw up his hands

Dwalin growled softly, “The orcs will run us down! As sure as daylight." Pointing over at Aranea who was slightly surprised as the dwarf continued. "Besides Aranea, the rest of us don't have any weapons to defend ourselves."

“Bind his leg quickly." Thorin ordered Oin, who looked up from his position in front of Kili, "You have 4 minutes.” the older dwarf nodded sharply. Quickly moving over the Prince's leg, he got too worked up.

While they bind Kili’s leg, some of the dwarves sit down around the rocky shoreline and Ori kneels by the river to empty his boot of water. Still, behind Balin, Aranea tapped the kind dwarf on the shoulder. “Balin, please."

Balin was surprised by her persistence "Alright," he agreed, turning to look up at her. "-what is it?"

Aranea gestured over to the rock that dripped over to the far side of the shore. Nodding, Balin followed Aranea as she led him over to the edge, where none of the others could see them.

"Yes?" He asked quietly as they both turned to each other.

"I know that this is strange, but you are the one I trust the most." she started, causing the dwarfs' eyebrows to raise. "And there are just some things that I am not sure the others need to know right now." She whispered, "But one of you should know, and as Thorin's advisor you will know when the time is right to tell the others." Balin nodded, chewing on his lip lightly as he did. He heaved a sigh before speaking

"No one can blame you lass from being hesitant about Thorin after-"

"He's different." Aranea interrupted. Causing Balin to look startled. "I'm not sure how but.." she shook her head lightly. "...I can tell-"

Balin was surprised, and again sighed heavily before nodding. Finally, seeming to accept the sense of foreboding in his heart.

"That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about." Aranea added after Balin didn't say anything. At his eyebrow raise, she continued. "There is something that is happening, that's been happening that you all have been made unaware of."

"What are you saying, Aranea." He spoke her name. The protective dwarf qualities that he was born and raised to listen to were running full speed as he eyed her.

"There was a reason why Radagast needed to find Gandalf so urgently that morning after the trolls. Somehow it was connected to the reason why a messenger was waiting for me at Rivendell." She swallowed as Balin visibly swallowed with her. She was making him uneasy with her wording.

Resting a gentle hand up on her shoulder to try and help calm the poor lady, and in turn himself, Balin spoke quietly and now urgently.

"What is it, lass." He punctuated the ending.

Aranea closed her eyes as she spoke slowly, “The Nine kings have risen out of the High Fells.'' She opened her eyes as she felt the dwarf's hand fall from her shoulder.

"The Watchful Peace is over." She added after a beat. "The enemy has risen again."

Unbeknownst to the rest of the company. A few minutes passed, talking amongst themselves as Oin made as quick of work on Kili’s leg as he could.

A tall figure was walking up slowly behind Ori, the gentle scribe was picking pieces of wood and river grass out of his hair as the unknown man aimed.

Dwalin, out of nowhere, holding a branch, leaps in between the figure and Ori. He raises the branch and begins to charge the man, but the man shoots his arrow and it embeds itself right in the middle of the branch between Dwalin’s hands. Kili raises a rock to throw, but the man shoots the rock out of his hand too.

“Do it again, and you’re dead.” the man ordered as he drew back on his bow to aim over the others.

Quite smoothly, a cold blade was placed on the man's neck from behind. The stench of orc blood not going amiss by him as a female voice growled sharply.

"I can speak the same for you, lakesman."

The man smiled before he spun his head, ducking under Aranea’s blade. But before he could strick, her foot landed a swift kick into his knee, bringing him down on the other. Bringing her sword to the front of his neck; resting it in the junction between the sharpness of her blade and the dull metal of her cross-guard.

"Now, do you wish to try that again or do you plan on actually listening?"

The man nodded, grunting slightly.

"Good. Now I'm going to empty your quiver and sheath my sword." The tone of her voice was still harsh and unforgiving, “-Then we are all going to have a civil conversation before parting ways. Deal?"

The man choked slightly, causing Aranea to loosen her hold slightly. Internally the man was quite confused by this very strange woman. Before he finally nodded, grunting

“Deal.”

.

.

=//=//=//=

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[hellothereobi]

Looking for Hobbit fanfic on AO3

It was a Thorin x original female character where he teaches her about sex/pleasure. It starts off at Beorns house I believe. It was superrrr smuttty

#thorin x you #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield #fanfiction #ao3 writer #richard armitage x reader #smut #the hobbit #lord of the rings #hobbit fanfic #thorin x oc